Escape
by With The What Now
Summary: When Jack is killed, Alex decides to leave England. Escaping, however, may prove to be a problem when the countries' militaries decide they want to keep him under their careful watch. May include K-Unit, Tom, Sabina P and various others later
1. Prologue of sorts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. I did not come up with the idea of a child spy.**

**I just own the plot. I think.**

**A/n. When I first had the idea to do this, I initially had Alex escaping England starting in a London underground train station, with K-Unit and other member of the SAS arriving and stopping him from leaving the train station - after a very big fight, an old lady swinging a hand bag in Wolf's face and Eagle being kicked somewhere very unpleasant. **

**But then I realised: I do not live in London. I have only ever been on a train once before in my life, and at the station it wasn't, I'm sure, anything like the London underground. So then I had to rethink my idea, and came up with the channel tunnel. I have been there once before, and remember it quite well.**

**The Folkestone White Horse is a real thing - very cool, too. Google it if you want to see it.**

**For the remaining chapters of this story, they should be longer - this is like a prologue type thing… sorta.**

**I also do not know when I'll be updating the next chapters. I haven't, at this moment in time, got any other chapters written. I am also in college/6****th**** form, so am quite busy a lot of the time with coursework, exams and filming stuff to do (I do media, and it takes a long time to do everything :l)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter one.**

They say that you are innocent when you are young. That life is just beginning, an adventure so unique to yourself that no one controls it.

They're wrong. Everyone is controlled. From the second you arrive from your mothers womb, you are controlled. Your life planned out for you. You have no control in choosing not to go to school; it is compulsory. You have no choice but to get a job when you are of legal age to support yourself and your family, to make life _better_.

For me, my life was controlled before I hit the age of one. After my parents death, being left in the care of my uncle meant my life was controlled. He had everything planned out, without my knowledge. Because life is cruel like that. And then, he was killed. And suddenly, the plans he had so meticulously made for me were pushed forward.

I wasn't even at the legal age for a job before I was blackmailed into one. Eight missions, a bunch of scars - emotionally and physically, no relatives left and the only woman who had ever truly cared for me shot dead in front of myself and 24 other unfortunate students in school, I crouch down behind a metal structure, waiting for the channel tunnel to let its newest travellers on board.

It was currently just after half six in the evening, and the next Euro train was due to let cars and coaches aboard in 15 minutes time. It had took me just under 30 minutes to get to my home in Chelsea, change clothes into darker material, my bullet-proof top provided by MI6 underneath a heavy jumper and to pack a very light bag, only spare clothing, money, and some of the contraptions made by Smithers that I had gathered within the last year on my back. From there, a further 3 hours was spent getting out of London and to Kent, and a further 45 minutes to wait for darkness to arrive to make my plans possible to leave England. During that time, I had travelled on various buses and trains, hoping to avoid as many cameras as I could, knowing that The Bank would be looking for me.

I had used my pick-pocketing skills to drop my phone, still on, into another passengers shopping bag to hopefully waste some of MI6's time in tracking the movement of that person instead of me. I didn't want to be found. I wanted to escape, to be free, to never have to constantly be looking over my shoulder, and I knew that I could never do that whilst still being in England, the military and terrorists organisations looking to use me or kill me whenever the chance arose.

When darkness finally arrived, I moved from my hiding spot in the car park close to the channel tunnel, seeing the Folkestone White Horse on the hills opposite, one of my last views of England, and moved closer to the channel tunnels opening. The three coaches waiting to depart amongst the many cars meant that my chance of escape was high - the darkness would cover me, and I would be able to climb up onto the metal rods supporting the shuttles entrance and on top of one of the coaches - an excellent hideout from which I wouldn't be discovered any time soon.

When the vehicles where finally allowed to move forward onto the shuttle, a quiet breath of relief escaped me, until I spotted something that terrified me.

There, travelling at a fast speed where 2 black cars being escorted by 4 army trucks.

I prayed for something to hold them up, or for the shuttle to quickly depart, knowing that it would mean my quick escape and 45 minutes to create a plan for when I finally arrived at Pas-de-Calais in France and what I would do afterwards.

But nothing held them up, and the train didn't leave.

**A/N 2. Please review - tell me what you want to happen in future chapters****… atm, I don't really know what I'm gunna with the rest of this story. I just wanted to get something published - these are my very own ideas that I daydream about at school, so I just want to get them out there… hopefully it'll mean they'll leave my mind, and I can finally concentrate on what the teachers are saying….**


	2. And so it begins

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. I do not own much. I own an ipod touch, a two year old Sony Ericsson phone and around 90-110 books. Maybe more. That****'****s about it. The rest belongs to my parents, who bought the rest.**

**WARNING: TABOO LANGUAGE USED.**

**Alright, last chapter sucked. I know. Some bits didn****'****t make sense. But basically, after Jack was shot in front of his classmates, Alex left the school, returned home, packed a bag, then travelled to Kent via trains and buses, and went to the Channel Tunnel, where he waits for the train to leave to take him to France. Simples.**

**Hopefully this makes more sense. Enjoy.**

Escape Chapter 2

"Shit"

It wasn't all too often that Alex swore, and it was only because of the direness of the situation that made Alex feel like he needed to do more than just say one taboo word.

"Goddamn fucking stupid MI6. Can't bloody leave me well enough alone."

Mumbling and cursing under his breath, he felt much better and much worse at the same time. Better for getting it out of his system, but worse for not feeling the clip around the ear he knew he would have gotten if only Jack was there with him, still alive. But she wasn't; she was dead, all because of those who had decided to chase him.

Alex knew that MI6 would have the many airports and train stations in London to be scouted out to prevent his escape when they would have inevitably found out that he had run away.

What he hadn't guessed was that they would go so far as to come to Kent and attempt to bock off the Channel Tunnel, too.

As the coach that Alex was currently hiding on top of moved forward into the shuttle, he caught a glimpse of the first man to step out of the first black car. Dressed in smart clothing, shoes sparkling and a mobile clutched in his hand, he looked the epitome of a stereotypical image of a spy.

The man looked around, searching for the blonde haired boy and seeing nothing, pulled the mobile open, punched in numbers and started talking into it.

Alex caught a little of what the man said, "move in" before the coach rumbled forward, taking Alex out of sight.

Not having much time before the agents from MI6 and the army, most likely SAS men, started to search inside the train Alex knew he needed to move and get a better hiding place; the men looking for him would be ruthless in their search and the chances of them looking on top of the coaches as well as inside of them and below were quite high. They did, after all, know that finding Alex was of top priority, even if they didn't quite know why.

This meant that Alex would need to disguise himself. He looked around the lit areas as the coach continued its' movement forward towards the front of the shuttle, grills aligning the floor on either side and bright red signs asking passengers not to move from their vehicles before the shuttle starts its journey in both English and French.

Nothing obvious stood out to Alex of which he could use to disguise himself, and when the coach finally pulled to a stop in front of a red car in front of it, Alex finally saw something that looked promising; the sign for toilets.

Before the car behind the coach could move into the lit carriage with Alex in it, he slid quietly down the back of the coach, and moved forward around the side of the coach in a crouch out of sight of the car.

Moving lithely, Alex continued onwards towards the front of the coach, keeping his body low so as to not grab the attention of those inside. He could hear the loud volume of those in the coach, obviously school children on some sort of trip.

A pang in his chest made Alex think of how he should be the one on the coach, having a rightful place in their amongst his friends and peers, not on the outside, running for freedom from those who should be protecting him.

He quickly shoved the thoughts aside, not needing a distraction at the moment when he needed to be fully focused on the task at hand.

Alex knew he needed to distract the driver of the coach to somewhere other than where Alex was crouched, hiding below the front of the windshield, and a bunch of small pebbles just outside of the tires would easily do the trick.

Peering round the side of the coach, Alex grabbed the pebbles, threw them at the drivers window and moved under the car in front all under 5 seconds.

He steadily crawled under the metal of the car towards the bumper, muffling his coughs from the fumes in his sleeved-covered arm. Turning onto his back, his bag of necessities on the floor, Alex faced upwards putting his first plan of disguise into action. Placing his hands onto the newly turned-off and cooling down exhaust, he wiped off the black powder and dark dirt before putting his hands into his hair, scrubbing it black and repeating the action until he felt he had done a good enough job of covering his blonde hair.

From underneath the car, he could hear a man talking to a woman, going over directions of how to get to they hotel that they would be staying in. Assuming that they were looking away from what was in front of them, Alex dashed forwards into the shadowed corner of carriage, his black clothing helping him camouflage into the shadows.

At this point, Alex heard the echoing voices of the agents and army men start to enter the shuttle, shouting orders to each other to search the cars of each of the passengers, looking for a "blonde haired teenage boy, around 15 years of age and about 5 foot 6."

Slightly panicked that the agents had already started searching, Alex started looking for a way to open the doors to the toilets, feeling around for the button to open the hatch. Once locating and pressing it, the automatic doors slid open emitting a whooshing noise that Alex hoped the agents didn't hear.

Moving into the disgusting public toilet that the shuttle provided, Alex looked into the mirror provided, ensuring that his previously blonde hair was now fully black.

With this done, Alex went back to his hair. Although the colour was changed, he knew that his long messy hair may give him away should the agents spot him. As he couldn't wet his hair in case the black soot washed out, and with no scissors to cut it, he was resorted to using an elastic band that he had picked up, fresh off one of London's street, from when, presumably, a royal mail postman had done his rounds, dropping the elastic band used to hold the mail together to the floor as they had been known to do.

Dropping the toilet lid down, Alex pulled his bag from his back and set it down on top. Opening it, he grabbed the pair of trainers that Smithers had provided from his previous mission that he never got around to using. Placing the new trainers on the ground, he slipped out of his old Nike trainers, dropping them into his bag, and into the comfortable less designer ones - well, less designer in that it didn't have any logos identifying who made the trainers, in any case.

Grateful that he had gone home and changed out of his school clothes and into casual wear, Alex picked up his bag and stepped out of the toilet, pressing the button on the back of his trainers to release the hydraulic pump that would lift him several inches off the ground.

Instead of going back into the carriage with the coach, Alex moved even further into the shuttle, and away from the agents, looking for a place to hide.

It had taken Alex less than 3 minutes to change his appearance in the toilet and move ahead of the coach, but in that time the soldiers and agents had covered just over half of the shuttle.

What Alex didn't know was that during this time, two of the MI6 agents had gone into the ticket office for the shuttle and were in a heated argument with the on-duty manager, telling him to delay the Euro train. The manager had continually refused, telling them that they could not delay the train due to the fact that they were on a specific time routine, and another train was due to arrive on that track within half an hour - the train needed to be gone within the next 15 minutes.

All Alex had to do was be unrecognised for those remaining 12 minutes, and he would be fine - at least until he got to Calais, France.

**Alright, so this is about 4 pages long, so it****'****s a lot longer than the first chapter. **

**I apologise in advance if this doesn****'****t make sense either. I don****'****t have a Beta, and right now its just after half 12 at night, so I****'****m tired and cant be bothered to proof read.**

**The elastic band thing is actually real - the postmen always drop the elastic bands, and a few years ago it used to be the ****'****done thing****'**** to collect them, take them to school, then use them to fling paper at fellow classmates. Ah, fun times.**

**Anyway, review please. I need to know where to go with this story - I****'****m thinking of getting Alex close to being caught, then the shuttle leaves or something, he makes it to France, Or something like that - meet an old acquaintance - perhaps meet up with Jerry, who gets in contact with Tom or something, who MI6 have been watching…? I dunno, but I want to include some fighting bits in it and such, so I don****'****t know if that plot line would work well.**

**Also, there is a picture on my profile (scroll down) of the inside of the Channel Tunnel - I****'****m guessing not many of you have seen a carriage of one, so hope it helps to imagine it.**

**So yeah. Review.**


	3. There's nothing I can do!

**Disclaimer: I don****'****t own Alex Rider. Obviously. So nerr.**

**There wasn't as many reviews as I would have liked, but thank you all to those who reviewed - I tried to respond to you all, and if I didn't, then i'm sorry. I will try to reply to any reviews I get on this... hint hint. **

**Thanks to Sarcasm- the lowest form of wit for Betaing this chapter :D**

Happy Valentines day to you all. Or, if you're like me, happy "yet another day". Yes, I am alone on this day, and yes, I am bitter about it. But oh well.

**Alright, so here****'****s chapter 3. I'm sorry that this chapter is up later than I said it would be - I was stuck on ideas for chapter 4, and wanted to get that written before I posted this, so yeah. Sorry for the late update. On the other hand, this is posted on valentines day, so you know, this is my gift to you.**

**Enjoy!**

**Escape C3**

When Alex had come out of the toilets, he had looked over his shoulder and saw the passengers being asked to step out of their vehicles so that the army men could search them.

Protests where heard, questions asked, and Alex was grateful for this. It meant that the soldiers were being slowed down by the public, giving Alex more time to prepare for stage two of his plan to escape.

He knew that sneaking onto the last coach that had not been searched by the army would not possible, but hoped that when they were asked to evacuate their vehicles he would be able to mingle with the passengers.

Hiding in front of the 42 seated Compass Royston coach, Alex waited silently on the balls of his feet, his hands against the pavement as he slightly leaned forward, ready to fight or flight. He listened to the sharp footsteps of the soldiers getting louder as they came closer towards him and squeals from over-excited children and teenagers sensing the seriousness of the situation and having fun from it.

The rapping of a fist beating against the coaches doors made Alex jump, but luckily the sounds surrounding him covered the noise his clothes made as the rubbed against his skin.

"We need you to open the doors, sir, and have yourself and your companions step out of your vehicle," a gruff and fed up voice called, obviously annoyed with having to deal with the passengers, searching for a teenage boy.

The coach shifted as the doors opened, wobbling slightly on its' tires as the over-weight driver moved onto the steps and jumped down to the ground outside of the coach

"What's going on, officer?" his high voice made the officer sneer at him as he checked him over, noticing the mans podgy stomach and flabby chin.

Boys and girls of around 16 years of age stepped down of the coach, whispering to each other, girls gossiping away, confused at why they needed to come off the coach

Alex slid around the coach easily whilst the children stepped of the coach, falling into step with them. A smaller boy with flame-red hair, freckles and pale skin noticed Alex and was about to ask him who he was when Alex sent him a sharp glance, moving towards the boy quietly.

Taking a £20 note from his pocket, he whispered into the boys ear "I'll give you twenty quid if you keep quiet and don't say a word about me"

Slipping the note into the boys front jacket pocket, the red haired boy nodded but was still sceptical about Alex and decided to keep an eye one him.

Alex leaned against the coach, hands in his pockets, slouched down, looking exactly like a bored and slightly irritated teenage boy.

He looked towards the soldier, not quite meeting his eye as the burly man talked.

"Nothing too serious. Just routine checks making sure that everything's safe and sound."

The driver didn't look mollified - he had done this same journey many times before, and never had he been stopped nor heard of other coach drivers who had, especially as these 'routine checks' deemed it necessary for army units to come out and do the check. He put his hands into his belt loops, and rocked forwards slightly on his feet.

"Are you sure it's just routine checks? Surely the army wouldn't be called out for it?" he questioned, ignoring the flaring nostrils of the soldier, obviously hating that his answer was being questioned.

The soldier put his face close to the drivers, "Are you questioning me?" he said in a low menacing voice, his breath fanning over the drivers face.

"No, no. Not at all, sir"

"Good. Now we have that settled, I'll start with the…" he paused for a second, a smirk hanging off his face "_security check _questions." He stepped back from the driver and towards his two fellow soldiers who had stayed back and watched the scene. Looking around at the students and teachers who had accompanied them, he bellowed "how many of you were on the coach at the start of your journey?" he asked.

The students had quieted at this point, all looking confusedly at the officer.

The teacher, a smart woman dressed in casual jeans and dark grey jacket answered his question, "34, er, sir."

"Including yourself and the other two teachers and driver, or was that just the kiddies?"

"Just the children. It would be 38 including the adults, sir" she replied, her voice much more steady than the drivers had been.

Alex watched it all, knowing that these 'routine checks' weren't actually routine checks, but were checks to make sure he wasn't on board the shuttle, wasn't able to leave the country.

Leaning back towards the red haired boys ear, Alex whispered "39 now," a smirk evident in his voice.

He didn't know what had pushed him to say that, he hadn't planned on actually going onto the coach and pretending to be one of their students - it would only cause more trouble when the teachers found out he had snuck on, but the idea of being amongst others his age tempted him.

Unfortunately for Alex, when he had whispered his snide comment, the officer was looking in his general direction. Believing that Alex had disrespected him in talking when he should have been listening, he roughly pushed other students aside and looked down, towering over Alex.

"You have something to say, son?" he shouted, bits of spittle flying from his mouth and onto Alex, the soldiers face scrunched up in anger.

The teachers and students were looking at Alex now, confusion written on their faces as they didn't recognise him. He prayed that no one said anything, believing that he was a part of the car behind the coach whose passengers had also been asked to leave heir vehicle, and had come to stand close to the coach. Likewise, those passengers believed that he was part of the school trip, when in reality he was part of neither.

"No, sir" Alex, being a stubborn child, wanted to not add on 'sir' like he knew he should, but under the circumstances knew that it wouldn't help things if he hadn't.

Stepping back, the soldier took one look at Alex, the way he slouched against the coach, his dirty black hair - an obvious bad attempt at hair-dye, and the way his feet were pushed together - Alex's way of hiding the hydraulic air pushing out of the back of his trainers, and pulled the sneer look back onto his face.

"Shark! I want you to check over the kiddie-winks. Make sure nothings outta place," he gave a certain look to Shark, conveying a message only the soldiers understood. And Alex, of course. It was a look that meant 'make sure the boy isn't amongst them'.

The use of code-names confirmed to Alex that the men were from the SAS, and never having heard those code-names used whilst he was at Brecon Beacons gave Alex a slight sense of relief. If it had been members of K-Unit or other units that had been in Wales when he had, there was a slightly higher chance that Alex would have been recognised, even with the change of hair colour and height difference.

"Lizard. I want you to check the coach. Make sure nothing _illegal_ is onboard," again the look was given.

"Yes, Sir!" feet pushed together, right hands moved in an arc to their temples, held for three seconds before coming straight down to the sides of their thighs, the two SAS soldiers moved to do their jobs.

**Finally got some conversation going! Yippee. I was quite worried for a little while that with no dialogue in the previous two chapters, people would lose a bit of interest/ give me some flames.**

**BTW (By the way), Compass Royston is a coach company. I don't think they travel to France, but it's just about the only coach company I know.**

**I got asked not to include K-Unit in this, or not very much of them at any rate, so I decided to create my own SAS soldiers.**

**K-Unit will most likely be in later chapters****…**** going to find Alex or something. Maybe. Haven****'****t quite got it worked out yet.**

**I****'****m also trying to not make this a stereotypical type story that you read about all the time, so if K-Unit are included in the story, Eagle won****'****t be some dumb soldier that doesn****'****t know anything, Wolf won****'****t be all angry at Alex… or at least not much, at any rate etc etc.**

**Review, my cherubs, and I will, hopefully, respond to ye all.**

**Chapter 4 coming soon! (I have, finally, written it. Oh yeah, I'm the man! Even if I am a woman, I'm still the man!)**


	4. Who are you?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Unfortunately. Damn.**

**I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter, hence why chapter 3 was late to be published. I didn****'****t know where to go with this chapter. Well, I did, but I had two choices of where it could go, both of which will be explained in an A/N at the bottom of the chapter.**

**WARNING: slight coarse language used further down in the chapter.**

**Escape Chapter 4**

* * *

As Lizard stepped forward to look for _illegal_ _substances_ inside the coach, Shark moved forwards to take a better look at the children, quickly getting frustrated that he couldn't see many of them; they all stood in their comfort groups, huddled together and meaning he could only see those in the front.

Seeing the frustrated look on the soldiers face, the smirk that had appeared on Alex's just moments before made a second appearance.

"Alright! Single file, immediately!"

Not many understood the command, never having been in the army cadets, or been taught it from movies or from teachers, and so looked at each other, waiting for someone to step forward and show them what to do.

Alex himself got a little frustrated at seeing them bumble about, and decided to save themselves some time, and consequently cutting down the time he would be in the soldiers presence, by telling them what the order meant. Adding an insult to them, of course.

"He means you have to stand in a straight line, you fools."

Understanding that order finally got them moving to stand in a straight line against the side of the coach, Alex moving away slightly towards the far end, away from the soldier and towards the car passengers, who still stood there, waiting for the soldier to finish so they could get back into their car.

The soldier mumbled to himself, complaining about how 'kids these days don't know nothing'. Alex wanted to roll his eyes, but settled with allowing some mirth to shine through them as those mumbles weren't exactly spoken in Standard English. _Soldiers these days._

Shark moved to the front of the coach, looking each child over with a critical eye, searching for Alex. Any boy with blonde hair, or who was around 5 foot 6 got a double check, and those boys who had both features got a triple check, eyes looking for anything that really stood out that would indicate that the boys were Alex.

Reaching the end of the line, and consequently Alex, Shark gave a cocky smile.

"And so we come to you," he reached forward and took Alex's chin in his right hand, moving his face from one side to the other, looking his face over with a keen eye.

"Don't quit your day job, kid. Hairdressing is really not your calling," the soldier snickered at his own joke, referring to Alex's thirty second hair dye job done underneath a car. Alex just raised his eyebrow, a skill he'd perfected many years before.

"I don't have a job. So I can't quit anything, now can I?" Alex remarked to the soldier, annoyed now.

He really didn't have a job; MI6, technically, didn't employ him. It was more of a 'you do this for us or we put you in a children's home' or, since Jack had gotten her visa, it was 'you do this for us, and you'll be able to find out some things about your parents… after you've been shot at, burnt and almost tortured, of course.'

And then Jack was dead, and suddenly, Alex didn't care about what his father had done. All he cared about was getting away from MI6, from the SAS, from the ASIS, from the CIA. He didn't care about it anymore. Didn't want that life. Didn't want the danger. And the only way to get away from it all was to get away. To run away, and never come back.

The coach shook on its wheels behind Alex, consequently shaking him from his thoughts as Lizard appeared in the doorway, jumping down to the ground, and 'all clear, sir' coming from the man.

Shark stepped away from Alex, giving him one last look over, his eyes narrowed as Alex continued to smirk at him.

The red haired boy that had been standing silently beside him gave Alex a wary glance, before looking towards the three soldiers, Shark and Lizard looking towards their commanding officer, talking quietly so as they couldn't be overheard. Undoubtedly, they were telling him that there was nothing suspicious, that the boy wasn't here. _Idiots._

An echoing shout came to those in the shuttle, ordering the soldiers to move out - it looked like time was up for their searching.

"Alright, you're free to get back to your vehicles. We are sorry for any inconveniences. Everything that happened here was all for your safety," the commanding officer said, before walking away towards the entrance to the tunnel, Shark and Lizard following him.

"Come on! Hurry up. This thing's going in a few seconds. Get outta there!" The same echoing voice called again, urgency in his tone. It was obvious that the shuttle would leave soon, very soon, be it with or without the soldiers on board. _Preferably _without_ them on board._

The soldiers picked up their speed, boots clashing with the floor, they didn't make it even half way to the entrance before the metal doors started to move, sliding closed slowly. Running, they managed to get just over three quarters of the way before the doors fully closed, sealing them inside the shuttle.

They continued to run towards the doors, and reaching them they pounded against them, a banging noise erupting, echoing back to those watching the scene with wide eyes.

Alex didn't know whether to chuckle or to pull a disbelieving face. On the one hand, seeing the soldiers panic about being stuck on the Euro-tunnel was all too funny, but on the other hand, it meant that he would have to keep up the charade of belonging on the coach even longer. _Decisions, decisions._

"RAT! If you don't open this bloody door now, you're getting a years worth of punishments, alone! No, screw that! If you don't open the doors then you're getting fucking binned! Do you understand me?!"

The commanding officer was losing his patience quickly. The idea of being stuck on the shuttle, with kids and screaming babies no doubt, and heading of to France was obviously not appealing to him.

A muffled reply was heard, fear and dread obvious in the tone of voice.

"I don't care if the stationmaster say's this thing needs to go! I'm an officer in the bloomin' SAS. To him, I'm the Queen of England! Tell him to open the bloody doors, right now, or when I get back to England, his arse is outta a job!"

Again, the muffled reply was heard, but this time a gruffer, more stern voice spoke too. Evidently, this was the stationmaster.

"What do you mean there isn't anything you can do? I'm stuck on here! I'm going to flippin' France! As a soldier in the army, I am ordering you to open the doors!"

Ah. The officer was quickly realising that he was destined to France and so had pulled his rank to get the doors to open. However, the stationmaster really had no power in opening the doors; once they were shut, that was that until they were in Port-de-Calais.

The officer only had time to bang his fists against the door once more before he, and the other two soldiers trapped with him, stumbled backwards, the force of the shuttle starting to move making them lose their balance.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! Open the goddamned doors, Rat!"

This time, Alex really did have to chuckle. Seeing the soldiers almost fall over was too funny.

The school children around him looked at him, unsure of why he was laughing - soldiers, people who demanded respect, had been locked into the shuttle, when all they were trying to do was protect them. They couldn't understand why he was laughing at them.

Shaking his head, Alex leaned down to the red head boys ear, whispering to him.

"This lot will more than likely stay outside of their coach, and not go back on it. In five minutes, I want you to go onto the coach, and open up the back emergency doors. A tenner will be in it for you if you do it," Alex bribed the boy again.

The red head was wary of Alex, unsure as of why he wanted on to the bus with them, but when the extra money was offered, he nodded his head in acceptance.

Like Alex said, the other kids and adults stayed outside of the coach, sitting on the sides of the shuttle that raised up slightly or sitting on the ground, their backs against the coach.

Clicking off the trainers hydraulic systems so that Alex could walk properly, he moved around to the side of the bus where no body could see, waiting for the emergency exit door to open. When it did, he hopped up, using the helping hand the red head gave him to boost himself up.

"Where do you sit on here?" Alex asked the boy, wanting to see where he sat, and if he sat _alone_.

"Umm. Back down here." The boy turned around and walked towards the front, his face watching the ground so he could manoeuvre around all the lose handles from bags that strewn around the place. He stopped in front of two orange and green seats, only one bag on the floor below the window seat.

"You sit alone?" Although there was only one bag, Alex wanted confirmation that the boy did, indeed, sit by himself - after all, one of the other kids may not have bought a travel bag, or may have took it off the coach with them.

"Yeah," the boy mumbled, embarrassed that practically everyone else was paired up except for him.

"Well, I'm your new seat buddy. Yay!" Alex pulled a sarcastic face, and fakely pumped his fist in the air, "Well, I guess that we may as well get our introductions out of the way. Hi, I'm Alex Rider. I'm 15 years old, lived in London all of my life, all of my family have been killed, the last of which was just shot dead this morning in front of me and my classmates, and for the past year or so, have been blackmailed by a whole load of organisations to work for them. Just doing little stuff like, oh, saving the world. They were the whole reason she was shot, actually. Oh. And now I have one of those organisations hunting me down because I've ran away. And that's pretty much my whole life story. So," Alex paused, giving the boy a second to take in what he'd just said, "who are you?"

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**A/N alright, so, like I said above, this chapter was a hard one to write. First of all, I didn't know whether or not I should have it so the soldiers got out, or whether they should be trapped inside. Then, I just couldn't work out how to write this chapter. After about 400 words, my mind just stopped working, and I couldn't think of anymore. So yeah. That's why it has took me so long to post it - I had to take a lot of time and effort to write it.**

**I know that this chapter is pretty crap, but it's the best I could do.**

**And also, please don't flame me about how Alex wouldn't have spilled his guts about working for MI6 and so on, but I felt that it was a good way to end a chapter, and also, with Jack dead, Alex doesn't give a flying donkey about who knows what anymore.**

**For the soldiers, no I haven't forgotten about them being trapped. Trust me when I say that Chapter 5 will blow your mind away with my brilliance of coming up with a plot so genius, it really shocks me. Yeah, so I'm excited about Chapter 5. So sue me.**

**Review, my pretties, review!**

**Please, review. Review like your life depends on it. It may just… I have a spoon and I know how to use it!**


	5. WeDon’tNeedToFindYou,WeAlreadyHaveYou

Escape chapter 5.

**Disclaimer: I don****'****t it Alex Rider. Well. I own the books, but not the rites to the books. I think you know what I mean.**

**I'd just like to mention that I am now an official Beta, so if you want your story to be checked over/ know someone who needs a Beta, message me/ tell them to message me, and I'd happily check over their work.**

**Alright, so I'm sorry this chapter is up so late. I've had a lot of essays to do this week (English language essay - around 2 pages on stuff that I don't even understand, and a media 3-5 page essay on a film that I don't remember watching…) then, I didn't finish early for college like I normally do, so I didn't want to write the next chapter because of it.**

**Thank you to Ryuusquall, who kept me entertained whilst writing this chapter - not in the dirty way, just conversing with me….**

**Hmm. So I didn****'****t really like this chapter. I know the first bit won****'****t be believable to you lot, because if I were reading a FF like this, it wouldn****'****t feel real to me either, and I****'****d more than likely stop reading. Just bare with me, though. The first part of this chapter needed to happen in order to get the second bit rolling. You****'****ll see what I mean. The action should, finally, start to pick up after this. Hopefully****…****.**

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"Uh-huh. Right. Yeah, of course. Umm, I'm Tony. Tony Wain-right. I'm 16, I live in Neverland, Peter Pan's my brother, and secretly, I'm a world-famous football player. But shush, no one's allowed to know. It could mean that I'll be sacked."

Sarcasm - the lowest for of wit. The red headed boys' - Tony's - comment was full of it. Alex knew that what he had said wouldn't be taken seriously, and he wasn't surprised that he'd gotten a sarcastic response from the boy.

"Funny. Really. But I'm serious. I'm getting away from the military intelligence lot. I _really_ have had to work for them. Got the scars to prove it," Alex pushed his point, and was fully prepared to take off his top and jacket to prove it, "My guardian was killed this morning, she really was shot in front of my class, so I ran away. Why do you think the _SAS_ are here? For a check up to make sure no _illegal _substances is on here? Er. _No_. The normal army would've checked, not the SAS." Alex scoffed, the SAS really wouldn't have come to check for any illegal substances, normal army men with sniffer dogs would've done the trick.

"SAS?" Tony, not one for knowing about army related topics, didn't know what the SAS was.

"Secret Air Service. The army elite. The big guys. They're the ones who do more than just fight in wars like your normal soldiers do. They, like, back-up people from MI5 or MI6, if they need back-up, of course. They're trained to just _do more_ than your average soldier. Like I said, the elite." Alex didn't really know how to explain it to the boy. The SAS was more than a normal army, and was the elite. The top. "The SAS would've most probably turned their noses up if they were asked to search for something like drugs or knives or guns. That's not their job."

"And searching for a kid is their job?" Tony's eyebrows were raised, a clear look of disbelief shown on his face.

"Yeah, well. Like I said. I'm not just a kid. I'm a _weapon_" he spat the last word, his emotion clear in his tone that he was not happy with the word, "that's all I am to them - a weapon. Someone who can do the job. Fuck them. Not anymore. That's the only reason they're searching for me - not because they care. Because they want their weapon back, before some other country picks it up and uses it." Alex ranted, angry at MI6, the CIA, the ASIS, the world, for using him when he was a child, blackmailing him into doing something he didn't want to.

Tony just watched Alex as he talked, watching the emotions that flew across the boys face. Alex's feelings towards the subject of being used were obvious to Tony, and how strongly the black-haired boy felt about them made the him start to believe that what Alex was saying could be true. Or at least have a smidging of truth about it.

"That's crazy, you know that, don't you? You're trying to tell me that MI whoever have been using a child to save the world?"

"Yes. That's what I'm saying. Remember Damian Cray? Ever wondered what happened to him? I pushed him out of Air Force One on a trolley, and he got cut up in the engines' turbines. Dead. If you want to see the scars that I've gotten from a load of other missions, then you can," Alex paused, thinking for a moment of a different way that he could prove to the boy that what he was saying was true, not wanting to actually show his chest to Tony, "actually, I have some gadgets that I got for some of the missions still on me.

I think you've already seen that the trainers I'm wearing have an air system at the back of 'em that lifts me up, right?" Alex looked at Tony, searching for confirmation. Not seeing any, Alex sighed and clicked the button at the back of them, so his feet were immediately lifted from the floor. "Cool, right? Great way of changing my height," Alex grinned at Tony's shocked face. "Not exactly something you'd find in some high street store," he smirked.

Clicking off the shoes again to allow Alex to bend over in his seat, he reached down for his bag before searching its contents, looking for the gadgets from Smithers that he'd stashed there when he ran from his house. Pulling out the spot cream, Alex gave it to the boy next to him.

"Spot cream?" Tony obviously didn't know what to think of the cream - how could it be a gadget? "what's it supposed to do? Super-clear away your spots? Hardly a gadget."

"It's not spot cream. It melts metal. Here, I'll show you," Alex took the cream off the boy and pulled the lid off. Putting a little bit of the cream on his finger, Alex showed the boy that the cream didn't harm his finger. "Now, watch this" He reached forward, placing the tiny bit of cream onto the metal screw that connected a plastic fold-out tray to the seat in front of him. Instantly, a hissing sound followed by a little bit of smoke came from the hole that was the screw.

Tony was shocked; spot cream had just destroyed a screw. He would never be able to use Clearasil ever again without wondering if it was going to tear a hole in his skin.

"Wicked," a smile was evident in Tony's voice, "what else you got?"

Alex smiled back at the boy, and leaned forward to search his bag.

"Nintendo Game Boy, complete with 4 games. Of course, they aren't games. Well, they have built in game functions, but they're more for gadgety reasons." Alex smirked, before turning on the Game Boy, and shoved the first cartridge - Nemesis - into the back of it.

"Do you have a piece of paper? I can photocopy it, and fax it to anyone you want."

Tony searched his pockets, looking for paper. Finding a Starburst sweet wrapper, he held it up, "will this do?"

"Um, yeah. That should work" Alex took the wrapper from the boy, glancing up at the front of the bus as he heard other students making a ruckus as they got on the coach and sit a few seats ahead of him. Remembering when he used the gadget on his first mission, Stormbreaker, and how the message he had scanned then was printed immediately to Mrs Jones' office in London, Alex decided to play games with her and Blunt - even if it was dangerous for the spy to do so.

"You got a pen?" Alex looked at Tony, bent over looking in his bag that lay at his feet.

"Ugh. Somewhere… just give me a minute" The boy finally pulled out black pen, "Puzzle Times" printed on the side, obviously a free pen free with a puzzle magazine.

Taking the pen from Tony's hand, Alex took off the lid, and wrote 'find me if you can. ha ha ha' on the sweet wrapper.

Then, he placed the wrapper on the screen of the Game Boy, watching as a faint light passed over it, scanning the paper.

What was scanned showed up on the screen for a few seconds, before Alex turned off the machine, hiding it as students passed by to go to their seats. He bent low so that they couldn't see him, too caught up in their own conversation to notice him.

"You believe me now?" Alex had to whisper so that the others around him wouldn't hear, afraid that he would be found and chucked off the coach.

What Alex didn't realise was that when he turned on the Nintendo Game Boy, a tracker system that had been placed inside the battery compartment had clicked on. This sent a message to Smithers' office, who then, after deliberation, passed on the message to Mrs Jones. Smithers didn't want to pass on the message - he cared about Alex, and knew that if MI6 found him, they would use him again, blackmail him again, and he didn't know if the boy would survive the next mission he would have been forced to go on. But it was his job to report the boy's location. He could be fired - or fired at and shot dead, if he didn't do his job.

By the time Smithers had deliberated and sent the message to Mrs Jones, and she had gotten it, the wrapper with 'find me if you can. Ha ha ha' had been printed out of her fax machine. She read both messages almost simultaneously.

She, too, deliberated on sending the message to her boss, Alan Blunt, having a soft spot for Alex and wanting him to get away. But Blunt had given her orders to report to him when the boys location was known, or preferably when the boy was captured. And orders _were_ orders. She had to pass on the information.

Blunt, too, read both messages almost simultaneously. A smile - no, a smirk - flitted across his face before it returned to its' previous mask of having no emotions showing.

"Oh, we don't need to find you Alex, we already have you." He almost whispered the words to himself, under his breath. "Tulip. I do believe an angry Staff Sergeant is here to see me about three of his soldiers trapped in the Channel Tunnel, destined for France, correct?" He looked at his second in command, searching for confirmation, even though he knew it was true. Mrs Jones nodded, and Blunt continued, "Then you better send him in."

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Oooo. Oh yes I did! I left it at another cliffy! Oh I'm bad. The action is soon to be picking up, my cherubs. Patience is a virtue. I'm currently writing chapter 6, and no action so far in that chapter. There may be though. I'm just going with the flow - and that rhymes. Strange. Anyway, if there is no action in chapter 6, then there will be in 7. I think. I just don't know at the mo - and that rhymes too!

**It took me a while to do this chapter, I had to research what the game - Nemesis - was called, how it worked, what it actually **_**did**_** etc etc etc. I even looked into finding out what the other games did too, it was so long since I've read the AR series.**

**So, like I said in the long-ass A/N at the top of the page, I don't think the first half of this chapter is very realistic - I don't think Alex would have spread his secrets to some child, BUT if you'll remember, I did say that Alex doesn't care anymore about who knows what - his life his over now that Jack is dead, so he told the other boy. Meh. **

**I liked how I brilliantly (if I do say so myself) put together the second half of the chapter. After staying up until 3 in the morning, writing the first half of the chapter, not knowing how to finish it off, I finally went to bed, giving up, and then BAM! the whole tracking system thing popped into my head, and then with the soldiers being down there with him…. Booyah! I have a full chapter.**

**Review, please. It'll make me happy - I'll even go for the sympathy thing and ask that you review because it is my 17TH BIRTHDAY next Tuesday (2/3/2010 or 3/2/10, depending on where you live - 2****nd**** March, basically). Yay! I'll finally be able to get my provisional license and start my driving lessons - all you I nthe UK better get of the roads! A crazy woman is soon to be driving amongst you, mwuahahhaaha!**

**Ahem. Anyway, review. Even if it's just a "Woot" or a "Happy Birthday" or a "Wow, amazing chapter" or, preferably, a long-ass essay. I shall reply to ye all. Promise ;D**


	6. Change of orders

**I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed! They were amazing, and I'm glad that some of you criticised my work; odd, I know, but it means that I have something to work on in later chapters, as well as it gives me ideas for future ones.**

**Disclaimer: I don****'****t own Alex Rider. This disclaimer is a disclaimer for all further chapters that I post. I cba writing any other disclaimers, and because I have a rubbish memory, I****'****ll more than likely forget to disclaim other chapters. And I****'****m rambling. Sorry.**

**Taboo language is again used in this chapter. I felt it was necessary to have in it. So nerr.**

**Also, I fear that you are not going to like this chapter. The first half of it, to me, is boring. When I was writing it, it bored me. I just couldn****'****t think of another way to start the chapter, though, and also, this bit of information WILL BE NECESSARY FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. To compensate for the boringness, though, I****'****ve wrote a bit more than I usually would as well as tried to get some action in FINALLY at the end.**

**Thanks to Bumpkin for some ideas on where this chapter, and consequently the next chapter will go.**

**Escape - Chapter 6.**

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_Passive Aggression: "having a personality disorder characterized by habitual __**passive resistance to demands **__for adequate performance __**in occupational or social situations**__, as by procrastination, __**stubbornness, sullenness**__, and inefficiency"_

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"Do you have any communications with your men down underground, Jacobs?"

Staff Sergeant Anthony Jacobs was a serious man. After a tough childhood, Jacobs had joined the army straight out of secondary school at the age of 16. After spending four years in England's Territorial Army, or the TA, and progressing from a recruit to the post of Lance Corporal before upgrading to a Corporal in very quick succession, the army knew that Jacobs was special. At each ceremony that was given on the marching ground when he moved up the soldier ranks, Jacobs' face displayed no emotion.

At the age of 21, Jacobs was asked to transfer into the SAS as a Sergeant. He accepted, and got the job to look after 36 men, making sure they were disciplined, performed their tasks perfectly and had to make sure that their conduct was of the top quality. When Jacobs met with the WO1 Regimental Sergeant Major and the Lieutenant Colonel to accept the job, Jacobs' face was the epitome of stone.

Jacobs had no problem in keeping his men in line; the soldiers in the SAS were afraid of him. They knew that his punishments for disobeying him were awful, meaning they did whatever they could to keep out of the Sergeants bad books.

After 6 years in the SAS as a Sergeant, and training many men that went on to save many lives, as well as staying alive whilst doing so, Jacobs was then promoted to Staff Sergeant Anthony Jacobs. Instead of 36 men that he had to take care of, he now had to 'look after' 120 soldiers. He made their lives hell.

The soldiers referred to him as SS Jacobs. SS didn't stand for Staff Sergeant. Oh no. To the soldiers in his care, SS stood for _Schutzstaffel_, the most ruthless and evil men that had served Adolf Hitler during his reign of power. Not only that, but the SS were known for their help in Hitler's quick rise to power and were masterminds. Jacobs had certainly rose to power quickly, and was a mastermind when it came to plotting the enemies downfall.

So when Jacobs was called by MI:SO and asked for several of his units to track down a school boy who'd done a runner, Jacobs was pissed. His units were full of the best-trained men, all of whom had been trained to support armies in their missions, going into extremely dangerous situations and capturing enemies, and that was only what _the public_ knew about. Their job description didn't include capturing a _school boy_.

Unfortunately, after 11 years in the army, it was practically instinctual to follow the orders of his superiors. Even if he was of high standing and didn't like those orders.

So Jacobs sent out many units of men for this school boy to many different locations. None of his men had seen the boy, and this made him even more pissed; they were wasting his and his soldiers time looking for the boy.

When news came to him about one of his units being stuck on a Euro-train, destined for France, Jacobs was no longer pissed. He was far, far past pissed. There wasn't even a word for what he was feeling.

He went straight to MI6 Headquarters, only to be told he had to wait until the Heads of the organisation where _ready for him. _

He became even angrier.

And yet, throughout it all, no emotion could be seen on his face. His eyes were still the same stone-cold that they had been since his youth.

When he was finally allowed to visit Mr Blunt, Jacobs didn't even get to say one word to the man before he was being questioned and reprimanded. Evidently, greetings weren't the norm at MI6 HQ.

"I'm guessing that your men didn't find Mr Rider? What a shame, don't you think Mrs Jones? Trained army men - the best, of course, couldn't even find a child," Blunt tutted and looked to Mrs Jones, a look of exasperation on his face, "and not only could they not find him, but they didn't even recognise him when they 'didn't find' him. And to think of how much money goes towards training those men," Blunt sighed, "such a waste."

Jacobs' mood went from beyond pissed and angry to beyond pissed, angry and confused. If his soldiers didn't find the boy, then how could they have not recognised him when they didn't even see him?

"I don't know what you mean, Mr Blunt. My men did not find the boy. If they had, then I am positive that they would have spotted him and took him into custody."

"Oh really? According to some… evidence, Mr Rider would have come into connect with at least three of your men, maybe more. And they didn't recognise him." Blunt's glare was a ferocious thing. But the Staff Sergeant had seen many a glare before, and had given plenty himself to not be intimidated by Blunt's own.

"My men did not spot the kid. They've done all that they could, even though it is _not_ their _job_ to go searching for some child. And because my men were off doing something not in their job title, I now have one Sergeant and two officers on their way to France!" Jacobs, after so many years of keeping his cool in so many different occasions, was finally losing it. He was angry; he was getting the blame for a job that his men shouldn't have been doing in the first place.

"Ah, yes. That is actually in our favour, Anthony." Blunt used the Staff Sergeants first name to show his power over the man; Blunt knew almost all there was to know about the soldier. He knew that not using the mans title was disrespecting him, and it was one of the things the soldier hated - Jacobs couldn't do anything about it though. MI6 were above him in the military ranks. "You see, that one Sergeant and two officers are actually on-board with Mr Rider." Blunt paused, letting that information sink into Anthony's mind. "So tell me, do you have any communications with your men down underground, Jacobs?"

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Of course things would be against Alex Rider. There wasn't really that many situations that he had been in of which anything did go right for him.

Alex and his new friend, Tony, had been on the school coach for just under 35 minutes when Alex had spotted the trapped soldiers returning to the carriage that Alex was in.

The one thing that Alex had going for him in that moment was that the coach had blacked out windows, meaning the soldiers couldn't see him inside of the coach. Alex, however, could see the goings on _outside_ of the coach, and as such could see that the kids that were still sitting down were asked to stand up in a line once again.

He heard the footsteps of a soldier step onto the bus, before Lizard's head appeared above the rows of seats. He stopped walking after he reached the first row, and looked at the dozen or so children on-board.

"Alright. I've gotten orders to ask everybody to step off the coach and stand in a line," Lizard spoke in a dark tone, his hands in fists at his sides. When the passengers didn't move, Lizard started to shout, "That means get of the God damn coach! Now! Pronto! Stat! Get movin'!" With that, Lizard moved to the drivers seat and sat down, watching as everyone quickly scrambled to get off the bus. Tony and Alex let the others pass by them before standing up and moving towards the front, Alex shouldering his bag onto his back.

As Alex approached the on-board toilet, he thought of hiding in the there. However, looking at Lizard made Alex quickly stop that plan in its tracks as he noticed the soldier staring intently at him. There would be no chance for Alex to hide without the man seeing him.

Lizard continued to look at Alex, that same intense glare in his eyes. The blonde boy was a little freaked out over it, worried that the man knew who he really was. He knew that he should listen to the instinctual part of him that was worried and concerned, but blamed it on the fact that the soldier was angry over being stuck on the train on his way to France.

Just before Alex stepped off the coach, he turned on the hydraulic trainers so that his height grew. He moved to stand in a line with all of the others, curious as to why they were being told to get off the bus.

All three of the soldiers were glancing over the children, staring at the boys for much longer than the girls.

"Alright, listen up!" Lizard had gone to stand with the Shark and the Sergeant, the latter of which was now speaking, "Every male that is aged between 14 and 18, I want you to stand forward. Ladies, please stand away from them. If you wish, you may retreat back to your vehicle. Thank you."

Alex, like the other boys on the coach, stepped forward, before huddling closer to his peers around him, trying to make himself disappear.

The girls, teachers and coach driver stepped back, looking on with curious and bewildered eyes, wondering what was going on. The soldiers had told them that they were looking for illegal substances; they'd already been checked over and given the all-clear. _What was going on?_

Alex, and consequently Tony, knew what was happening. They were looking again for a 15 year old, blonde-haired boy who was around 5 foot 6 in height.

But this time, they'd be more careful.

Alex knew that something had gone wrong; he knew that the soldiers knew that he was in the Euro Tunnel with them. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. Call it instincts.

And Alex also knew that he was going to be found this time around.

But knowing this information gave Alex another thing going for him. The soldiers hadn't _actually_ found him yet, meaning Alex could prepare for the time when they did find him.

Lizard, Shark and the Sergeant all moved towards the boys that stood in a weird curved line, leaning forwards and giving them a long looking over. Any boy who's hair was obviously not blonde was told to stand with the girls and adults, and those with blonde hair and/or had dyed hair was told to stay put.

Tony, being a red-head, was told to stand with the girls and adults. Once with them, he watched the soldiers move about before settling his eyes on Alex who was told to 'stay put and don't bloody well move.'

After five minutes, Alex was standing amongst three other boys who fit his description. Another boy had originally been told to stay put too, but after realising he was less than 5 foot 3, they told him to move away.

Shark reached into his back pocket and took out a piece of photographic paper. Alex could guess that his face would be on it, and they where going to use it to match him to the photo.

After putting the picture next to the two boys to his right, both of whom had been given a dismissal, it was finally Alex's turn.

"We have a match!"

Shark had turned his head to look at the Sergeant when he'd made this statement in order to get the higher-ranked officer to come over and see for himself. As the man turned away, Alex struck out, first with a low kick to the soldier's right kneecap, before spinning to his side and elbowing the man in the stomach, forcing him to bend over as he crippled to the floor. Lifting his knee, Alex brought it up to meet Shark's chin as the man bowed down from the previous attack. Shark was unconscious before he even hit the ground on his back, a bang echoing out in the train twice as the mans back hit the floor first, followed by the back of his head.

The man wouldn't be up for quite a while.

One down. Two to go.

But now, the other two soldiers were wiser to his skills, and as such reacted the way that soldiers were trained to; release their guns from their holsters, and point the muzzle at the enemy. In this case, Alex was the enemy.

In the carriage, gasps had been heard whilst Alex had executed his attack on Shark, but now only silence reigned in the room, the passengers too stunned to make any noise.

One soldier down, bleeding from some head-wound, two other soldiers pointing guns at a child, and that same child was the one who gave the wounds to the first unconscious soldier. _Not exactly something you__'__d see everyday_.

"Hands in the air! Now!" The Sergeant was annoyed; one of his soldiers had just been beaten by a child. In front of members of the public. He wanted to shoot the kid, or at least hit him around the head with the butt of his gun, but he had orders, and as such he would do no such thing. _The brat doesn__'__t need to know that though_.

Alex didn't put his hands in the air. He was too stubborn to listen to the mans demands, and didn't care whether the soldier decided to shoot him or not. Also, the 'brat' did indeed know that the soldier wouldn't shoot him; he knew that the mans orders would be to stop Alex from leaving the country, and whilst that had failed, his newest orders would more than likely to be along the lines of 'bring the boy back into the country. Alive'

Instead, Alex sneered in the direction of the two men left standing, two guns pointing at him. He pulled his bag from his back, opening the zip and plunging his hand inside. Always, Alex kept his eyes on the two men.

"I said hands in the air! Now!" The Sergeant repeated himself, frustration evident in his voice. He wouldn't put it past the boy to carry a gun with him, and with the way he was rummaging around in his bag looked like he was going to pull one out. The sooner the boys' hands where safely in the air with nothing in them, the better. For him. And Shark.

The Sergeant turned his eyes in the direction of Shark and nodded to him, a silent signal passing between them. Shark moved slowly towards Alex, wariness in his movements as the Sergeant stayed put, keeping his own gun trained on the boy. When there was just a metre separating Alex and the Shark, the man stopped. Alex watched him approach, his hand still rummaging in his bag, frantically searching for the damned heavy _Harry Potter_ book that would be his escape route.

"Last warning. Get your _fucking_ hands in the air. _Now._"

Not finding the book, Alex grabbed onto whatever his hand could grab before dropping the bag and, in a fluid motion, dropped what he had grabbed down his sleeve before putting his hands in the air, the item unseen by the soldiers.

Shark stepped forward, grabbing Alex's right hand and twisting it behind his back, before getting his left and doing the same. Not having hand-cuffs, Shark made do with just holding the boy.

But that was a mistake on his part - Alex managed to kick out at Shark's shins, making the man loosen his hold on him, and twisted his hands into the air, crossing them at the wrists in order to completely break free of Shark's hold on him.

Alex stepped back and kicked Shark in the stomach, forcing the man to slid backwards slightly toward the Sergeant, landing on his behind, and out of reach of Alex. Shark got back onto his feet and walked backwards towards the higher ranking man, watching Alex warily as if the boy was going to attack him again.

"For Gods sake, boy! We're trying to help you" The Sergeant was red in the face, anger at the boy for hitting another of his soldiers.

Alex laughed.

"Oh, right. _Of course_ you are. You know, you're not trying to take me back to England and back to the _bank_, right? That's not your orders _at all_ is it?" Sarcasm was heavy in Alex's tone.

The Sergeant couldn't say much in his predicament; there were cameras all over the carriage, not to mention many witnesses. If he spoke the words that he needed to say to the boy out loud, the cameras would allow any lip-reader to be able to pick up on what he was saying. Not to mention that if anyone on the train was questioned, they'd most likely tell of what the Sergeant said.

He decided that he needed to get closer to the boy, and whisper it into his ear.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you - no matter how much I want to. And believe me, I want to hurt you a lot. But I need to tell you something, and I can't do that with all of these people here," the Sergeant said, lowering his head and his voice so that only he and Alex could hear, keeping his mouth out of any camera's vision.

He moved closer to Alex after putting his gun back in its holster.

After stepping so that he could talk directly into Alex's ear, he bent forward to do so.

"Our orders have changed," the man whispered. "We've been told to tell you to fake knocking us out, then leg it into France as soon as you can. Go to Parc Saint-Pierre. Someone will be in contact with you there. Act now."

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So, the chapter ends with another twist. Thanks to Bumpkin for the idea of it.

**I know a few of you are going to question about how the soldiers and the Staff Sergeant communicated, and I****'****ll tell you how:**

**When they initially built the tunnel way back when, they had to actually start building the tunnel from England AND from France, then meet up in the middle. Even one centimetre of not matching upness would mean that they would have to go back and start again. To avoid this, they had to constantly be talking to each other - both deep inside of the tunnel as well as outside of the tunnel. Therefore, they had communication devices between them somehow. I don****'****t really remember how, but I do remember an oldish bloke in a yellow hard-hat talking into a walkie-talkie device when they were close to finishing the tunnel, and he was talking to someone outside of the tunnel. If, in the ****"****olden days****"**** they could communicate that way, I****'****m guessing they have more powerful ways now-a-days that they can communicate by.**

**This is a fact - I am a sad person, and I sometimes like to watch TV shows that show how things are built. One such British TV Programme called ****"****Big Bigger Biggest****"**** showed this. (Did you know that they had to use laser power to align everything? Strange, huh?)**

**Review, my prettys! Review!**


	7. Ready and Waiting

**Not many people reviewed last chapter. Thanks to those that did!**

**Alright, so part of this was written during a business studies lesson in which I was stuck on my coursework (damn Lucozade!), and couldn't be bothered asking my teacher for help. At least I was doing something productive, though.**

**Sorry about not posting in a while. A lot of stuff has been going on over the last week and a half; college is starting to pick up pace as we get closer to exams, so more homework has been set. Grr. Not only that, but I've also started to Beta many stories (about 4/5), so I'm spending time doing that. I do enjoy Beta'ing their work though - it means I get to see previews… always a good thing**

**WARNING: I may not be posting for a few weeks once after this chapter. This is because I want to get ahead by a few chapters so that I can update more regularly… I may take two or three weeks off from posting. I do intend to finish this story, so don't think that I'm abandoning this story.**

**Just like to thank ****Kermita**** for her great ideas on this chapter and future ****chapters. Honestly, I wouldn't have a clue were this story was going if not for Kermita.**

**Sorry, again, in advance of any mistakes (punctuation-wise, grammar-wise and any mistakes that I've put in my story that didn't happen in the book). I haven't bothered to look back over this chapter, and the bottom third of it was written within an hour at around half 11 at night.**

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Escape Chapter 7: Ready and Waiting

Alex knew that he couldn't trust what soldiers said; soldiers followed orders, and as such, Alex was positive that their orders were to capture him and bring him back to England. And if a white lie was told in order to detain him, then so be it.

So when the soldier told him to go to Parc Saint-Pierre, Alex kept that place in his mind and nodded to the Sergeant, as if he was going to go along with the mans 'secret' order. Even if it did sound slightly genuine.

Alex pushed the man away from him, keeping hold of one of his arms, before pulling him back and simultaneously kicking out with his right foot, straight into the older mans stomach.

Winded, the Sergeant folded to his knees, before Alex turned to his side and brought his foot round, his toes pointing out, to smack straight into the side of the soldiers face. With the force of Alex's kick, the soldier was pushed to his side, landing on his arm unconsciously on the floor.

"One left," Alex muttered to himself, looking up at the remaining soldier, a glint in his eye.

Shark didn't know of any changed orders; only that he needed to capture Alex, and as such, kept his gun trained on the boy.

"Come on kiddo. I don't want to hurt you, but you gotta do what I say, and I say step away from the Sarge and put your hands in the air," Shark said, trying to put as much authority in his voice as possible. In this situation, though, with his two fellow soldiers knocked out by a teenager who was quite obviously trained in martial arts, authority wasn't an emotional that was portrayed well in his tone.

Alex smirked, stepping away from the Sergeant and towards Shark, his hands at his sides as he kept his eyes trained on the man.

"You're not going to hurt me. I know your orders. Capture me. Take me back to England. I very much doubt that seriously maiming or even killing me was in those orders," Alex paused, thinking, but continued to take slow steps forward. "Maybe you'll try to knock me out, so you'll hurt me a bit, but you won't do anything that I won't be able to fight you against."

Shark, finally grasping that Alex wasn't going to be swayed by a gun being pointed at his face, put his weapon away in it's holster at his hip.

"Alright then. If I have ta fight ya to capture ya, then so be it." Shark replied, his northern-accent coming through strong as the man become slightly nervous at the impending fight. Leaning forward slightly and spreading his legs shoulder-width apart, creating the standard pre-fighting stance so as to help him obtain the most balance he could, Shark watched Alex as the boy moved silently even closer to him.

Without warning, Alex punched towards the mans face with his left hand, his fingers in a fist, following up almost simultaneously with a hit towards the mans solar plexus, using a shotei uchi palm-heel strike .

Shark, believing Alex was going for his face, blocked the first punch using his forearm to push the strike away from his head, totally missing the second punch. Collapsing from the excruciating pain of the palm-heel strike, Alex used a mae geri kick, bringing his knee up and forward, his heel and toes pointing forward, before snapping his leg outwards and towards Sharks head.

As Shark became unconscious from the head strike, Alex turned his back to the man and saw the on-lookers looking at him with awe, fear, confusion and a bit of anger from the adults as they saw a teenager _attacking _a _soldier. _Alex just shrugged his shoulders, uncaring, before turning back to the three unconscious soldiers.

"What to do with you lot now," Alex murmured to himself, considering his options before picking Shark up under the mans arms and dragging him to the side of the train, opposite the travel-coach.

He then moved to do the same to the Sergeant and Lizard, putting all three of them an arms-width apart so that, in the event that they would awaken, they wouldn't be able to move without Alex noticing.

Finally, after all was done, Alex reached into his sleeve pocket and pulled out the gadget he had grabbed from his bag. Mobile phone, model 5, courtesy of Smithers during his third mission, Skeleton Key.

Although it's initial purpose was to keep Alex in-touch with MI6 - whether he was in space or underwater; or in this case, underground - when Alex was working with the CIA, Blunt wanted to keep in-touch with Alex because, as Smithers put it, 'you can't trust those Americans… and they have no sense of humour.'

However, Smithers being Smithers, had put a little extra punch to the mobile and had added in a drug inserted into it.

Opening the phone up, Alex moved towards the soldiers and bent close to the Sergeants neck. Pressing the aerial of the phone close to the mans skin, Alex pressed 999, and a needle darted out, instantly drugging the man with chemicals that would keep him unconscious for at least another half an hour - more time than Alex needed for the train to stop in France and to have at least 10-15 minutes of time to escape.

Manoeuvring to Shark's neck, Alex did the same with him as he had done to the Sergeant, another needle shooting out into the mans' blood veins. Likewise, he did the same to Lizard, using the last of three needles.

Moving away from them, Alex threw the phone in the air, and as it fell, slammed the top side of his foot into the phone, kicking it into the side of the train, smashing it to pieces upon impact.

He didn't know if there was a tracker system placed in the phone, but didn't want to leave it to chance so he knew he had to destroy it.

Searching in the bag he had dropped earlier, he pulled out anything he believed could hold a tracking system. In all actuality, almost all of his gadgets could hold tracking systems, but he knew he might have need of some of them in the future, so only destroyed the Sony Discman from his second mission and the inhaler from his sixth with Paul Drevin. He debated about his special trainers from Smithers, and took them off. Shaking them, he listened for any sounds of anything loose, anything to signify that anything extra was in them. Not hearing anything, he put them back on, deciding they were safe enough.

Pulling out the night vision, infrared goggles Smithers had given him for his second mission, knowing he would need them when he entered the dark streets of France.

The audience that had gathered around him started to talk, murmuring amongst each other, wondering who he was and why soldiers had wanted him.

They figured that because the army wanted him, he must be a teenage terrorist of some sort, someone high on England's wanted list. The boy was obviously dangerous; being able to take down three soldiers, as well as some sort of gadgets proved that.

And so, they concluded that the boy sitting on the floor watching the soldiers intently shouldn't be bothered by them. They were just in the tunnel for a trip to France, not to capture a child. That was for the army to do, not members of the public. And if the army couldn't do it, well, they certainly weren't going to.

For the remaining time that it took for the Euro-train to reach Port-de-Calais, Alex watched the soldiers for any signs of movements. Luckily, none were made, and when the train's doors were opened, Alex walked forwards and into the night of France.

***

Through the training of many years spent with his Uncle Ian, as well as his experience of being an unwilling spy for just under a year, Alex knew how to move silently amongst the stone pathway of France's streets.

Not only that, but his Uncle Ian had brought Alex to France plenty of times during his first 14 years of life, often using the Euro tunnel to commute between England and France. For Alex, this meant that he knew most of the roads surrounding Port-de-Calais, as well as the fastest way to get to Parc Saint-Pierre.

During his time spent watching the unconscious soldiers on the train, Alex had plenty of time to think, even if he knew he shouldn't; one second of lost concentration from watching the soldiers could be imminent death, or most likely he would be captured. The soldiers would have a vendetta against him because of their embarrassment of being knocked out by a kid in front of witnesses, and so would not capture Alex without pain coming to him.

However, he rationalised these thoughts with the 30 minutes knock-out poison that the men where under, and so allowed his mind to debate on what the Sergeant had told him he was to do.

Firstly, Alex knew that Blunt was most likely the man that had sent out the SAS to search for him.

Secondly, Alex knew that Blunt would want Alex back in Britain's hands, as England couldn't do much once Alex was on French soil; if the French military and government were to find out that a British spy was on their turf, accusations could be pointed at England for spying on their neighbours. This meant that Blunt couldn't risk asking the DGSE, - Direction Générale de Sécurité Extérieure - the equivalent of MI5, to help him bring Alex back to the U.K, because it was a risk that would include them finding out about Alex, and so could not ask for their help in his capture.

Lastly, Alex knew that soldiers would lie in order to complete what orders they were given. This meant that Alex wouldn't go to Parc Saint-Pierre because the soldier had told him to. Instead, he'd stick with his original plan, and get as far away from Blunt and his plans as possible.

Hopefully.

After Alex had stepped off the platform that the Euro train had stopped at, he used the light provided by lamp posts structured around the site to see where the cars where going to be moving to within minutes. Following the road, Alex climbed over a gate that the cars would be stopped at as they had to punch in their tickets that they received in England to prove that they have paid, and moved towards the shadows that streets provided.

He moved quickly, using his night-vision goggles regularly to help read signs to help direct him away from Calais. He past a Holiday Inn and the Hotel Belazur, tempted slightly by the idea of a warm bed, but wanted to save his money for emergency situations.

Passing along many streets, Alex came across Rue Richelieu, a street he knew led to the Office Tourisme Intercomm which he would need tomorrow; the office was closed at the late hour, so Alex continued onwards, memorising the street names as he travelled among them so he would be able to find his way back the next day.

Continuing onwards, he soon came to a _Station Service El_f that was open. Alex firstly took off his goggles, placing them in his bag then walked into the store and browsed the shelves, picking up some familiar chocolate bars, a water bottle and a light roll-up cover that he could easy stuff into his backpack.

Walking to the till, Alex was served by a middle-aged man.

"Juste ceux-ci, s'il vous plaît" _Just these, please_ Alex said to the server, using French to try not to seem as a tourist.

"Le peu en retard pour vous être hors, le ce n'est pas? C'est-à-dire 7.69€

" _Bit late for you to be out, isn't it kid? That's 7 Euros 69c._ The man replied, ringing up his purchases.

Alex handed the man 10 Euros that he'd managed to snab from Tony when the boy hand't been looking; Alex felt it was only fair - he had given the boy money to keep quiet, in return, Alex took his euros as a fair exchange.

"Je continue un voyage d'école et ai oublié demain d'obtenir quelques choses." Alex smiled sheepishly, "Rien n'aime les dernières courses du soir." _I'm going on a school trip tomorrow and forgot to get a few things. Nothing like late night shopping._ Alex laughed quietly, trying to look embarrassed.

The shopkeeper smiled in return; to him, children these days always leave it till the last minute, then they're in a rush to do everything at once. Not like back in his day, when he'd receive a smack round the head if he was so foolish to not be prepared days in advance.

With a quick 'merci' to the elder man, Alex left the station and walked around the street corner onto Rue du Tertre before opening the water bottle and taking a mouthful, then ripped into one of the chocolate bars and wolfed it down. After not eating since around mid-day during lunch at his school, Alex hadn't eaten anything since and was fairly hungry; running, coming up with plans and beating up three soldiers would wear anyone out.

Deciding that he should continue on and not risk the shopkeeper seeing him in the streets, Alex walked for another ten minutes until open gates appeared in front of him.

Within the gates, Alex could see many trees and flowers, lit up by street-lamps posted every five metres or so, a gravel pathway and he could hear the trickle of water that he assumed came from some sort of water fountain. There was also the sound of traffic, but Alex dismissed that as it was outside of the Parc.

Inside of Alex, he felt panic rising up, dread taking over as he thought of what would have trees, flowers, a gravel pathway and a water fountain; a park.

Listening carefully for anything that sounded suspicious, Alex thought of his options; he could turn around and head another way, or he could head into the Parc and have a bed; parks usually had benches, and as such, Alex could use one to get himself off the ground and sleep on it.

Then Alex thought of the Sergeant, and where he had told Alex to go to. Parc Saint-Pierre. Although Alex _knew_ that the soldier was lying when he said his orders had changed and he was helping Alex, Alex couldn't help but feel curious about what would be awaiting him inside of the Parc. Alex was, by nature, a curious being, and if he was curious about something, he would more than likely check it out. This usually led up to the situations Alex had been in in the past; shot at, in pain and on the barrel-end of a gun, but still, Alex couldn't help but want to know what was waiting for him in the Parc. After all, the soldier _might_ have been telling the truth, and someone could be there to help him.

On the other hand, someone may be there to capture him or worse, kill him.

But if there was one thing Alex was certain of, it was that he was going into that Parc and seeing if there was trouble or no trouble.

Moving forwards, Alex stepped towards the gates, and could see, imprinted onto a sign, the words 'Parc Saint-Pierre'. It confirmed Alex's suspicions. This was the place the Sergeant had told him to go to.

Taking a deep breath, Alex reached into his bag and grabbed the Harry Potter book. He didn't need the goggles; he could see perfectly fine with the streetlamps lighting up the way. Staying away from the lights, however, Alex moved into shrubbery to keep to the shadows. He circled the place, watching and waiting.

Not seeing anything, Alex climbed a tree and decided to stay put. The tree he was on was placed pretty much in the centre of the Parc, and as such it allowed Alex to see around him. Keeping an ear out, he listened to everything that was going on around him; the trickle he'd heard earlier was slightly louder now, closer to him, the sound of traffic in the distance also fairly loud now. He guessed, in France, it was approximately 8o'clock at night, so traffic would soon be slowing.

Settling in for the night, Alex waited for hours before he heard anything productive.

Footsteps, many of them, where in the Parc. Hitting the gravel, Alex could easily tell which direction they were coming from, and Alex turned his body that way, watching and waiting to see who was going to appear beyond the tree line, the Harry Potter book ready in his right hand to be used at any given moment, in the left the bug spray that he'd took out his bag earlier in the evening in his left.

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**A/N Yes, I know the phone would have only had 1 needle, but I needed 3, so I made it have 3. Simple.**

**Like I said at the top of this chapter, I won't be publishing for a while because I want to get more chapters written. Instead, I think (if I can plan it to go this way), I will be publishing a small chapter - somewhere around 1,000 words that will be a link to the next chapter, but it won't be in Alex's POV. It'll be in someone else's POV, that IS important to the story. However, although I have an idea of what that 1,000 word chapter is going to go like, I don't actually know if Alex's POV won't be included, because his POV may be needed to make the mini-chapter sound right. Although I have got an idea of what I'm going to publish for that chapter, it **_**is**_** unwritten - normally, I start out with a kinda-idea of the chapter, which then sounds nothing like what I'd originally thought of. Meh.**

**Review, me cherubs, review!**


	8. Zap

**Can I just say that firstly, I liked writing this chapter more than any other chapter that I****'****ve written so far? Is that odd? There****'****s very little Alex in this - or at least not much of it being from Alex****'****s POV, really, and yet I like this chapter more than the others?**

**I think my conscience is trying to tell me something****…**** never having listened to my conscience before, I have no idea what it****'****s telling me, so I****'****m just going to ignore it.**

**Alright, so this is a ****'****mini****'**** chapter****…**** even if it really isn****'****t mini - I enjoyed this, so I wrote more than I thought I would.**

**Yes, I know that I said I wouldn't be posting for a while, and I won't be after this. It's April Fools day, though, and I noticed some other authors decided to update their stories because of it, so I decided I will, too.**

**Enjoy**

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Alan Blunt was truly an amazing man. His mind was so manipulative and scheming, he knew when he was a child he would go far.

His father was a soldier in the army, and as such, Alan was brought up to be very loyal to his country. By the time he was 27, he was one of he best operatives MI6 had ever had. Unfortunately, after an injury at 37, Alan was forced to quit being an active operative, and after he recovered, was asked to be deputy head of Military Intelligence. Wanting to save and protect his queen and country, Blunt agreed.

For just under 20 years, Blunt saw many spies coming and… going, never to return. He sent the men and women out into the world, telling them that what they were doing was the best thing they could ever do with their lives, protecting their family and friends from the dangers that others pose.

Never, ever, had he thought that he would be sending many men at his disposal to chase after a child. Admittedly, it was a child that was a weapon, but still, a child.

Blunt knew this child, though. Knew what made him tick, knew how to bend him to his will, and knew exactly how to bring Alex back into England's - and his - hands.

He knew that after Alex had spent time at Brecon Beacons shortly after his Uncle had died, he would never trust a soldier's word unless he knew that they were definitely on his side. And even then, he would treat their words with caution, and often disobey any orders they may give him. So when Staff Sergeant Anthony Jacobs had men stuck down in a tunnel, trapped with Alex Rider, _the _child legend in the spy world, Blunt didn't have to really think much to create a plan to get Rider back into his control.

Firstly was to get Jacobs to feel guilty and into a sort of debt with him. That was easily done, telling him how he failed in his mission to stop the boy from leaving the country. Then, it was to get Jacobs to feel as if he was on his side, and only want to protect the boy - after all, he was a mere child alone in the world, going into the unknown. Again, easily done. Then, it was to anger the man - pushing on the point that it was _his_ fault, it was _his _men that had failed. And finally, it was to get Jacobs to want to prove himself; again, easily done. Blunt knew that Jacobs had communication with his soldiers down underground; by asking of the man whether or not he had communication with them, and allowing Jacobs to say yes, gave him some sense of pride in that he had done _something_ right.

Jacobs had told him "Yes, sir. My men and I are in constant communication."

Blunt smiled at the man, linking his fingers together on the desk, "excellent. That's excellent. I want you to tell the Sergeant, and him only, that there has been a change of plans. I want you to tell him that Mr Rider must go to Parc Saint-Pierre. Help is there for him; as of what help, I'm afraid we cannot divulge that information to you. Just make sure that you pass the message along, won't you?"

It was a clear dismissal to Jacobs; he stood, saluted - albeit a bit too stiffly - and turned a bout, striding forwards, his right arm lifting as his left foot moved forwards, marching towards the door. Outside, Jacobs kept up his hard face, striding down to the lower floors to open communications between his men and himself.

And for the first time since Alex Rider had decided to take off without his permission, Alan Blunt really allowed himself to smile, for just a second, knowing that the boy would be in his hands within a day. He knew that Alex's curiosity would win out in the end, and he would go to Parc Saint-Pierre, even if he told himself he wouldn't. It wasn't in Alex's blood to miss out on something like that.

Excellent.

******

_James Sprintz_

Bored.

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored.

Bored.

James Sprintz wasn't a very happy boy at the moment. He was being subjected to his father's attempt at teaching him the ways of the Sprintz's business; including a meeting with a bunch of old men in grey suits that looked like death itself.

That's right. His father had took him with him to a board meeting, to teach _him_, his _irresponsible, childish, unlearning _son how to do business.

At 9o'clock, James was ready to punch something… or maybe punch wasn't the right word… James was ready to fall asleep on something - namely the desk in front of him. Yes, that was better.

James was sat in a board meeting with his fathers colleagues from the U.K at 9o'clock at night in France, because apparently the U.K men weren't willing to travel to Austria, even though his father paid them to go, and instead asked that they meet in France, halfway between the U.K and Austria… roughly. Despite his father elbowing him to 'sit up straight' all of the time, James was slouched in his seat, head back with a crick in his neck.

Really, though, when his father had told him that he wanted James along to 'teach him the ways of the business,' James knew that he was talking bullshit. Really, Mr Sprintz just wanted his son along so that he could keep a watchful eye on him. James was a well-known trouble maker, and as such, he didn't want to leave the country knowing that his son was not being looked after other than the cleaner, cook, sitter, gardener and security team. James would escape them within minutes of his leaving. No, it was better for his son to be with him. In the end, it may be worth it; his son may become interested in his business, and as such it would be protecting his assets as he would be leaving them to, then, a worthy heir.

He should have known better, though. James didn't care about business and the goings on within his own fathers. In fact, this boring meeting, which had run since noon - noon! - was pushing him farther away from wanting to take over the business than his father could have believed. The damn recession had affected his U.K's stores, and as such, the emergency meeting was taking more time than it should have done to be finished. They needed to come up with a plan - and they needed one now if they were going to survive - not to mention creating profit.

When a break was announced shortly after 9, James was one of the first out the doors. Going down to the cafeteria, James turned his nose up to their food, and instead decided he was going out to buy some real food. Chocolate bars and crisps - exactly what the doctor ordered. He phoned his father, knowing that his mobile would be off, telling him that he was out looking for some proper food.

Walking out of the doors of Place Média, - the place of which the meeting was held - James turned right onto the main road of Boulevared Jacquard, and walking, looking for any open shop that he could find. Walking for ten minutes, James' feet were starting to hurt, and he wanted a place to rest.

Continuing onwards, James soon came to some sort of park, and decided to go in and hope to find a bench to sit down on and rest his feet. Stumbling around, James couldn't find a bench, which _really_ annoyed him - his feet where hurting, and he needed a bench _now_. Hearing the gurgling of water, James walked towards it and found a fountain. A seat.

Unknowingly to him, he entered opposite the side that Alex had, as well as in the opposite direction of where Alex was currently hiding in his tree.

Looking down at his phone, James checked the time; half 9. Looking around, James noticed for the first time that the Parc was silent - empty. It was a curious thing; it was only half 9 - why weren't people still walking about or walking their pets? Did French people not do these things?

Of course, although James was the son of a rich man, he wasn't exactly privy to the goings on of the SAS that was stationed in France for two weeks, learning the routes, language and leadership within the country. And he didn't exactly know that the SAS had cleared the Parc, ready for the capture of Alec Trider, an escaped prisoner of MI6, the son of a madman they had stopped a few months previously.

But when James heard the running feet of several men, heavy footsteps falling against the gravel, James knew that something was going down.

Being a rich kid, James thought it was some of his fathers goons, coming to take him back to the stupid board meeting. Panicking, James looked around him, seeing trees on his right. Running to them, James hid behind one of the trees, peeking out to see the polished black boots of someone he couldn't see - branches were in the way.

Sending his father a text of "Y Parc?" James silently seethed behind his hiding spot, wishing for the moment he could rid himself of his father and be a free man, travelling the world and never par-taking in anything to do with business, board meetings or waking up past one in the afternoon.

_Mr Sprintz_

My son was an idiot. A fool. An irresponsible, annoying, trouble-making, why-me-god foolish idiot.

I'd hoped that my son would want to learn more from the meeting with my U.K managers. I'd hoped that he would be able to see that money doesn't fall out of trees, and that he would have to work to earn money - the harder he worked, the more he'd earn, the more holidays and cars he would be able to buy.

But after a measly hour of working and coming up with problems for my stores in England, my son was slouched in his chair, obviously wanting to be anywhere but here.

After nine hours, I must admit that I was tired of this, too. Nine hours was simply too long, but if he wanted new games, holidays and the latest gadgets, well, my business was going to have to do well, and as such, it meant that these meetings were important.

I called a break, and watched as my son ran out of the room, relief in his eyes. I knew that he wasn't enjoying this, but life isn't like that. To get the best stuff, you've got to work for it. Life is tough - deal with it.

When my men came back into the meeting room, I noticed that James was not there. I assumed he was in the cafeteria, or looking around the place, and really, I didn't want to subject my son to any more of this.

An hour later, when the meeting broke up, my business partners had a plan, and hopefully it would mean that more stores survive and continue to create profit for my back pocket.

I turned my phone on, immediately seeing that my son had sent me a text message "Y Parc." Kids these days, can't even spell, and nor do they make sense. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and called to Petar, my guard, driver and friend to go looking for my boy at the 'Parc'; I would only be downstairs in my room, and guards are already in place there. He nods to me, and turns around, walking down the stairs and out the doors, getting in the car and drives off in search of my lazy son, who can walk off, but needs a ride back.

Mr Sprintz wasn't much of a technology guy, and as such, he missed his sons first missed call, not knowing what that image at the top of his mobile meant, and so didn't understand that his son had went out for food, not for a walk in the park.

_James Sprintz_

When the men finally came into view, James didn't expect to see men in black uniform, trying to be as quiet as possible yet not succeeding. Guns strapped to their backs and hips, thighs and calves, James knew that they were one of two things; soldiers, or assassins. Seeing as the men were in a group, and still had that soldier look about them - short hair, slightly marching - James guessed the former.

Understanding that the men weren't his fathers guards coming to take him back to the meeting, James watched them move from his hiding spot behind a tree.

His eyes trained on the men, James noticed out of the corner of his eye a small movement in the trees, leaves shaking as something moved. Reflexively, his eyes moved from the men to the trees, waiting for more movement to happen.

What James didn't expect was more an arm carrying what looked like a very large brick to emerge, pointed straight at the men in black. Confused, he watched as the top of the arm, shoulders, half of a face and part of a body learnt forward out of the trees, the brick still clutched in the bodies - a males' body - arm.

None of the soldiers had noticed the movement as each of them were faced away from him, bodies facing forward.

With no sound to indicate that anything had happened, one of the soldiers in the middle fell forwards, a short cry falling from his lips, and did not get up.

The soldiers in front and behind of their comrade jumped, eyes wide as they reached for their guns at their hips, looking around frantically in every direction for whatever had knocked out their fellow soldier.

Orders were shouted from a tall man in the front, telling the others to stay on their guard and for two of them to pick up "Whale" and take him back to the trucks and informing the "bosses."

Whilst James had been watching the goings on of the soldiers, shocked and amused - come on, admit it, a soldier being knocked unconscious by thin air? Funny stuff - the body in the tree had moved to another place and two more soldiers fell.

James heard a yell of "shit!" as another man fell, and, noticing that the fallen soldier lay on their front, knew that the culprit was behind them. They kept their guns pointed in that direction, waiting for a noise to discern what exact direction they were in.

James, being far away from the body in the tree, didn't hear the noise that came from the tree as something happened, but within seconds, flies, bugs and all sorts of insects came to the tree that James had seen the boy in and the soldiers. He could hear them yelling and screaming, and so again didn't hear the rustle that the body made as the male climbed down from the trees on the other side of the men, but the soldiers sure did. They moved their heads and guns in his direction, trying to ignore the insects surrounding them, but couldn't see much due to the masses that flew around them so didn't spot the boy running away, heading towards where James stood, gaping.

James saw him, though, and noticed the male was a boy, around his age with longish black and blonde hair, that looked faintly familiar to him.

One of the soldiers saw the boy, and shouted, pointing in his direction. His comrades looked, too, and started to follow the boy.

Noticing that he needed help, and caring that he really shouldn't have done it - after all, the boy could be extremely dangerous and may kill him later on - James moved from his hiding spot, waving his arms and gesturing for the blonde boy to come to him.

A look of incredulity in his eyes, the boy did indeed run towards James, and together they ran for the gates of the Parc, not asking each other questions as the soldiers followed suit.

At the gates, the boy turned around and closed them before using the brick-like thing to zap another soldier and pulling some canister out of his pocket, spraying it where the gates locked together. Again, almost instantly insects surrounded it, meaning that when the soldiers finally reached the gates, they'd be unable to open them due to the amount of bugs in their way.

Once finished, James looks away from the boy and to the streets around the Parc, noticing a black car coming towards them. Eyes wide, James recognises it as his fathers. When it comes to a stop, Mr Sprintz, James' father, steps out of the vehicle, and before the father can say anything, James is already across the street, dragging his new friend into the back of the car and shutting the door behind them.

Telling his father's driver to "drive," as Mr Sprintz joins them, the driver speeds of, away from the soldiers and back into the heart of France, towards the board meeting and thus towards a right telling off from his father.

**Must admit I don't like the ending - or rather, the way it was wrote. Sounds too amateurish to me, but oh well.**

**I'd just like to say that I've officially broken up for Easter! Woo! Two -almost three - weeks off from college? Oh yeah.**

**It'll most probs mean I'll write the next few chapters fairly quickly - hopefully - so you **_**MAY **_**be getting chapters quicker than I'd originally thought.**

**Also, I'd like to say that I've finally finished with my first of two Media Studies coursework - my group has been working on it since before Christmas, so, you know, I'm glad it's outta the way.**

**I've gotten a fair idea of where the next chapter should be going, but after that, I don't know. Ideas, anyone? What would you like to see happen? Although this may be my story, like I've said before, I don't really have much ideas for where it's going to go… in my mind, I just saw Alex and James meeting up…. I never knew how they met up, nor what happens after.**

**Anyway, review and tell me what you think.**


	9. Running

**Firstly, I****'****d like to apologise for three things: one, I****'****m sorry if I didn****'****t reply to your reviews last chapter; some of them it wouldn****'****t allow me to send a reply back, and some it did. Thank you, anyway, for reviewing.**

**Two, I****'****m sorry if some bits in this chapter don****'****t match up with what was written in chapter 8; sometimes I****'****ve gotten muddled up with the events that happened last time, and in this one too - hopefully, I****'****ve matched them up together correctly. If I haven****'****t, then I hope you still remember what happened last chapter, anyway.**

**Three: I'm really sorry for this taking ages to get out. I'm sorry, I really am. Just so you know, I've got the next chapter written, and a fair idea of where this story is now going to go - there'll be a bit of action in the story; mainly Alex (and possibly James) getting into some trouble, but it will end happily for Alex.... there may be a sequl in which Alex has to leave the place he'll be living again, but I don't want to say any more than that.**

**Also, I****'****ve started a LiveJournal account. Find it on my profile page. It should be public, so anyone can see it, but if you can****'****t, well, I dunno how to change it to public, so you****'****re just gunna hafta get an account and add me as a friend. Sorry. I****'****ll try to update it as often as I can, but send me messages if I forget/ you want to ask me something on there, if you don****'****t want to ask me on here.**

**Disclaimer: The characters ain****'****t mine, but the plot is. Ha.**

**Alex POV - Chapter 9**

_Settling in for the night, Alex waited for hours before he heard anything productive. Footsteps, many of them, where in the Parc. Hitting the gravel, Alex could easily tell which direction they were coming from, and Alex turned his body that way, watching and waiting to see who was going to appear beyond the tree line, the Harry Potter book ready in his right hand to be used at any given moment, in the left the bug spray that he'd took out his bag earlier in the evening in his left._

Alex knew when he entered the Parc that he would find one of two things. One, that agents from MI6 of some sort - be it active agents or soldiers - would be coming to get him and take him back to England, and thus into Blunt's hands. Or two, help. Real, honest, help. Somebody - or more than one person - who would be able to help him start a new life away from Blunt, the spy world, danger and England. Although Alex had the luck of the devil on his side when he was _on_ a mission, usually, outside of his missions, his luck ran out. _Therefore_, Alex surmised, _I won__'__t get my hopes up that option two will happen,_ he scoffed at the idea.

He needed a plan for the most probable outcome that the Sergeant in the tunnel was lying about help awaiting him in the Parc.

After he had picked his tree out in the woods, Alex remembered the items he still had in his backpack, and used them to create a plan. When he heard the heavy footfalls on the pathways, Alex knew instantly that the men who he would soon see weren't there to help him. Boots, and lots of them - soldiers. Alex had his plan, though, so whilst a part of his conscience worried, the rest of him focused on what he had to do.

Men in black uniform weren't exactly what Alex was expecting to see. Yes, he was expecting soldiers, and these were quite obviously soldiers. But in black? Not exactly the usual colours of the British army. Then again, they would blend in with their surroundings with their black gear as it _was_ dark out.

It was pretty obvious that the men were trying to be sneaky; constantly looking around, hiding partly in the shadows, whispering to each other. Unfortunately, with gravel under their feet, they might as well have been stamping for all the noise they made. Especially with the amount of men with them, _sneaky_ was definitely not the right word to describe what they were doing. _More like bumbling idiots,_ Alex thought.

When the last man marched past him, Alex moved slightly into a more convenient position in order to be able to watch them, as well as put his plan into action.

Leaning downwards in order to have a clear shot, Alex pointed the _Harry Potter_ book he received from Smithers before he went on his mission to the French mountains.

By hiding above the men in the trees, it meant that Alex could aim the book at one of the men in the centre of the arranged order the soldiers stood in. This then meant that those behind him would see him fall, and hopefully those in front of him would be pushed slightly, creating the most confusion and commotion amongst them. Also, by aiming for the middle man, the soldiers wouldn't know which direction the attack had come from, so if Alex didn't want to move trees, he could strike again without having to.

Pressing the authors name, an electric current shot out of the spine and into the targets back. When the current hit the man, an expletive "shit!" was screamed into the air, and within five seconds, the man was unconscious on the floor.

The reaction was instantaneous amongst the soldiers, and couldn't have had a better impact nor been more amusing to both Alex and his plans.

Firstly, the men jumped into the air, panic in their eyes as they heard their comrade shout - no, scream - "shit". Then, reaching for their guns at their hips, they looked around frantically for the culprit who somehow silently and invisibly knocked out their friend.

The confusion on their faces, as well as the fear of the unknown, made the soldiers fumble about. Who can fight the invisible?

The leader of the soldiers tried to get order back into the men, shouting orders for them to pick "Whale" up and take him to the trucks and informing the "bosses" confirmed three things. One, these were SAS soldiers. The use of the codename, as well as the British accent confirmed as much. Now that Alex knew who he was up against, he could alter his plan to suit his enemies. Two, the SAS soldiers had vehicles to help follow, if not track, Alex should he leave the Parc. And three, these were just the pawns in a chess game - really, it was a game. A game of wits and nerves and outmanoeuvring the weaker, less daring side. By being pawns, Alex figured that they no doubt knew nothing of Alex except he was a boy who had escaped from MI6's clutches. The soldiers most probably assumed that he wasn't dangerous, that he didn't have weapons on him that could do serious damage to the men. _Oh, how wrong you are._

As Whale was escorted away by two soldiers, nine were left in the Parc for Alex to deal with.

During the commotion, Alex opted to move trees, deciding not to risk exposure by striking from the same place twice in quick concession. The noise level of the soldiers masked any sounds he may have made. By the time he'd travelled three trees, and was perching where he could easily aim, the book was charged, ready for another go at the bumbling idiots.

Aiming this time for two men very close together, who almost over-lapped each other, Alex pressed the authors name, and electricity flew through the air, stunning both men.

Alex almost laughed in delight as he realised he could take two down at once. Again he moved trees, waiting for the book to charge back up.

Unfortunately, the two men both fell on their fronts, and the leader, a very smart man, used this as an indication of where the culprit would be hiding. The man kept his eyes on the trees, but Alex had moved on by then, too quick for the soldier to follow.

For Alex, by the time he reached his new destination, the book wasn't charged to full capacity, so he lent downwards towards the soldiers, but still kept out of sight. Aiming close to the soldiers necks and backs, Alex used the anti-bug-spray-that-actually-attracts-bugs spray, putting pressure on the nozzle.

Again, he moved on quickly before the soldiers could find him, but this time moved away from the men, delving into the forest of trees, rather than the walkway. Seven trees in, and feeling rather safe in the dark provided by the canopy of leaves and branches, Alex climbed down his tree and onto the ground. He could hear the commotion of yells and shouts and cries as bugs rushed towards the soldiers, obviously scaring them, if not hurting them. This time, Alex allowed himself a chuckle to escape.

He really shouldn't have, though, because even though a lot of noise was coming from the soldiers, the men _were_ trained to notice things, even in times of distress. As he moved away from his tree, he heard the dreaded sound of guns being taken out of belts, safety catches releasing. Looking towards the soldiers, Alex noticed that they had spotted him, even amongst the insects flying, and instantly he started to run, deciding to sprint to where he knew the gates where so he could get out.

As the soldiers moved to follow him, though, unfortunately for them, the flies, insects and bugs also moved with them. This disabled their sight, and meant by the time Alex had ran a few metres, they lost track of him.

As Alex ran, he noticed a pale face hiding near the tree line; a boy with long dark hair, and wearing a very old black top with jeans. He was too far away, and it was too dark to notice much else about the boy, though.

A shout went up, and Alex knew he was finally spotted by the soldiers. Not having the time to ask the questions he so desperately needed to know, Alex decided to run towards the boy; maybe the kid had a hiding place or would be willing to help him?

As Alex moved closer to the boy, he saw the kid move out of the tree line, waving his hands in the air to attract his attention even further. As the boy moved into the light, Alex saw that the kid had dark blue eyes, and instantly Alex recognised him; James Sprintz. Even though almost a year had passed since he'd last seen him, Alex would never forget that face.

Questions instantly bubbled up inside of him, wondering why James was here, was it another part of the trap? Was James here by accident, on purpose or by coincidence? Why wasn't he back home in Austria? Had the soldiers seen him? If it was by accident, had James recognised him?

As Alex approached James, he, too, started to run. Catching up to the dark haired boy, they ran as fast as they both could, heading towards the Parc's gates. Deciding not to waste his breath, and knowing now wasn't the time, Alex kept the questions to himself; the soldiers were in pursuit of the boys, and asking questions would mean he couldn't come up with a plan to get away.

At the gates, James rushed through them, followed by Alex. He knew that he had to do something to give them time to get away, and so closed the gates before using the bug spray around the handles of the gates where the two doors closed together.

Within thirty seconds, bugs, insects and flies surrounded the area, and Alex saw even more flew in before the soldiers got there.

Alex tuned away from the gate, and looked towards James. Noticing that his attention was otherwise occupied, Alex looked in the direction his friend was and could see a black car coming towards them.

Instantly, fear gripped him; was this the "truck" the soldiers were referring to earlier? Or was this a new threat to him, an unknown enemy he couldn't have predicted?

Reaching to grab James, intending to pull him away from the cars direction and towards a dark patch in the street, Alex reached into thin air. Looking wildly around, Alex spotted James walking to the edge of the road to where the car had finally come to a stop. A man, who looked almost the spitting image of an older James, stepped out of the vehicle, an angry expression on his face.

As James rushed past him, however, running across the street and reached for the door handle of the back seat of the car, he looked back at Alex who had decided to come along, a confused expression crossed the elder mans face.

Alex saw the man look to the heavens, shutting his eyes, before he climbed into the car. James, the adrenaline rush still in his body, ordered his father's personal driver to drive, as Alex sat there, dazed.

**End Notes:**

**Alright, yes, I know that the Harry Potter book in Point Blanc had a stun dart in it, not electric current that could shock you, but I needed to change it slightly to fit in with this story - yes, I am trying to place this story as close to the books as I can, but sometimes things need changing. **

**Also, I****'****m really sorry that it has taken me so long to get this up****…**** I****'****ve actually had this written for over a month now, but wanted to get another one or two chapters written before then, or at least a plan in mind of where I want it to go - and a plan, I have****…**** maybe a sequel for it, too.**

**Please review, and tell me what you think. Sorry about any typos - I haven't read over it, so didn't look for any mistakes.**


	10. Striking the Empire

**Alright, so here****'****s Chapter 10 of Escape. Whether you****'****ll like it or not, I don****'****t know, but oh well. It****'****s my story, and this is all I could come up with :P**

**Hopefully you****'****ll like it, but if you don****'****t, please don****'****t flame me - give constructive criticism. Or just lie and say it was an awesome chapter, and I****'****m an awesome writer. Either way, I****'****ll be happy :D **

**Disclaimer: I don****'****t own Alex Rider, unfortunately. However, the plot is all mine :D**

Escape, Chapter 10

_Alex Rider_

_The driver really is an exceptional man,_ Alex mused silently to himself as he sat in the quiet car. After driving for the Sprintz's for several years, or so Alex presumed, this must have been the most excitement the man would have seen in a very long time. To keep a straight, unemotional face under the circumstances, as well as not asking questions must have took some professionalism.

Although, if he wasn't a professional in his job, the Sprintz's most probably wouldn't have hired the man; they had money, and as such, would only want the best of the best.

Alex could see that Mr Sprintz in the front seat was not best pleased; eyes closed, fists clenched, breathing fairly heavily, it was pretty obvious to any on-lookers that the man was angry, and he had every right to be - his son, a teenage delinquent, had left him in some way or another, which meant Mr Sprintz had to take time out to go look for him, and when he finds him, not only has he got a tag along teen with him, but was also being chased by several men in black uniform.

Not exactly something that would make any man - much less a father - calm.

James, on the other hand, was totally different to his father. His mood was almost energetic, with his leg bouncing up and down, hands fidgeting in his lap and his head moving to look at Alex every other second. If Alex didn't know better, he'd bet that the boy was either on drugs, or that he had a disorder of sorts. _ADHD? _Alex mused silently.

When Alex caught the boy looking at him again, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question of _well, what do you want?_ In case James didn't understand his silent question, he opted to question him out loud.

"What?" he asked, a bit of amusement in his voice.

James grinned at him, and took the chance to ask him about why the men in black were after him.

Alex smirked, before answering, "who knows? People these days…" he left the sentence hanging, his smirk still on his face.

"Come on! That was brilliant," the boy almost yelled, leaning in towards Alex. "You - invisibly - somehow - took down a bunch of what looked like soldiers, actually, why were soldiers after you?" he questioned, for a moment forgetting his point. Remembering, he continued before Alex could get in an answer, his accent coming through evidently as his rambling quickened, "then magically got a load of bugs, like, out of no where to appear where the men where! I mean, that was wicked!" again, the boy was almost yelling in enthusiasm.

"James!" his father snapped, breaking up James' one-sided conversation, even though he was intrigued to hear what had happened in the park. "Be quiet. You have no _idea_ how much trouble you are in. And as for your friend, as soon as we get back to the hotel, we are calling your parents to come and collect you. Understand?"

James nodded, dejected, and Alex followed his actions, even though he had no intention of letting Mr Sprintz phone anyone - after all, who was there to phone? If Alex told him he had no parents, or that he was here with nobody, Sprintz would most likely call the police to come and deal with him, and there was no way in _hell_ he was going to let that happen.

There was only two ways out of this. The first was that as soon as he, James, and Mr Sprintz were alone in a room in the hotel, he would have to knock out the father and leg it out of there. Alex didn't like this plan, though. It was getting fairly late, and while Alex had thought he could maybe hide out in a tree in a park at night, now there was no way he could do that; the closest park was most likely going to be watched for a while, and he didn't fancy his chances of finding another one close to where he was going now. However, he kept this option open in case his second idea didn't work out in the way he wanted it to. Setting it in motion, Alex leaned across to the boy beside him and whispered one word in his ear, "_Dusseldorf._"

It certainly got a reaction out of the boy. He jumped slightly in his seat, his movement restrained by the seat belt crossing his chest and lap. Whipping his head to face Alex, his eyes widened and his mouth formed an 'o' as he took in the grin on the other boys face. Confusion was evident in his facial expressions, and Alex decided to put the boy out of his misery.

Looking forward to see if Mr Sprintz had noticed this slight conversation, and noting that he hadn't, he leant forwards towards James and again whispered in the boys' ear, "come on James, remember me? Point Blanc, James. Think"

He moved backwards in his seat, and watched as James' face transformed from confusion, to excitement, to confusion once more.

"_Alex?_" he whispered, almost as if he didn't believe Alex was really there. "_Alex Friend?_ Er, Rider?"

During his mission to the French Alps, when Alex had discovered where James was locked up, he'd told the boy - and those around him, unwillingly - who he really was, which included his surname and his job as a spy of sorts. James must have remembered his surname, but had still thought of him as 'Friend.'

The second option Alex had was to get James even further on his side; he'd remember Alex had saved his life, not to mention saved his father a lot of money and assets if Dr Grief's plan had worked.

James couldn't say much to Alex as his father had told him to be quiet, and with the way he was worked up, he knew he wouldn't be able to whisper much. As such, he didn't say anything until they reached the hotel, at which point the grabbed Alex by the arm and raced to the lift, hitting the button to call the elevator repeatedly until his father grabbed his hand and forced it down to his side, and unimpressed humph coming from his mouth.

When they reached their room, and after James had received a very annoyed glare from his father, Mr Sprintz finally spoke to Alex.

"So what's your name then?"

"I'm Alex, sir." Alex decided to be polite; it might make things better for him in the long run.

"Right then, Alex. What is your parent's phone number?"

At this, Alex had to pause. There wasn't a number he could give the man. Instead, he looked towards James who sat quietly to his left.

"I don't have parents, sir." He put his head down, acting like he was upset, grieving.

"Don't lie to me, boy," Mr Sprintz almost shouted at him, really worked up and not in the mood for anything but the truth. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either I can phone your parents to come and take you, or I can phone the policia and have them take you away and deal with you. Do you understand? Yes?"

Alex nodded, and again looked towards James. The other boy took the hint, and started to work to Alex's plan.

"But dad! He really doesn't have parents. I -"

"Oh? And how exactly would you know whether he has parents or not?

"Because I met James at the Academy at Point Blanc, sir," Alex had decided to interject; the argument had gone on too long.

"Oh, so you've been expelled from other schools, then, too. Great. Two boys with an affinity for trouble," the man wasn't seeing what point Alex was trying to make.

"No, sir. I've never been expelled from any school. I was sent to the academy to find out what was going on up there."

"Yeah, dad!" James butted in, "The only reason I'm alive and you've still got money is because of him," at this, he pointed a finger at Alex, but kept his focus on his father. "Remember what happened at the academy? You didn't want anything more to do with it 'cause of the publicity, but remember there was a boy that stopped the clones? That was him!" Again, James pointed at Alex with his finger.

"I am here, you know." Alex said, an amused smile on his face, but it did the job and got their attention. Mr Sprintz spoke first.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Alex nodded in return, slowly. Hopefully, the man wouldn't call the police or try to contact anyone now that he knew who he was.

The man gave another 'humph' before speaking again, "so what are you doing in France, boy?"

At this, Alex couldn't help but grimace as a memory of the day came to him, but he pushed it away; now wasn't the time to dwell on the past.

He didn't really want to answer, but knew that the situation would only be made worse if he didn't. Instead, he told a half truth, unwillingly to tell them the true reasons.

"I ran away, sir. My guardian died this morning, and I would just but put in a kids home, so I decided to get away before that could happen." Again he put his head down, mumbling slightly as he finished his explanation and shrugged his shoulders as if it was the natural thing to do.

Mr Sprintz looked speculative, considering his options. Finally, he sighed before he told the two boys his plans.

"Alex, we'll discuss this more in the morning before I have to leave for a meeting. For now, go to bed. I won't kick you out yet. Apparently, I owe you my son's life," at this, he looked towards James pointedly. "But right now, I'm not opposed to letting the policia deal with you. However, I have the feeling you'll somehow find a way to leave before they get here, so I won't do that. Go to bed. The both of you."

Both boys did as he said, Alex following James in his hotel room, unsure of where he was sleeping.

"James!" Mr Sprintz called. When the boy looked towards his father just before entering his room, he continued. "Don't think I've forgotten about the stunt you pulled tonight. We'll also be discussing your punishment tomorrow."

With that said, he looked forwards out of the window, a silent dismissal.

As James and Alex walked into where they would be sleeping for the night, James pointed to a comfy looking leather sofa and said that Alex could sleep there for the night. Although it would have been courtesy for James to give up his own bed, well, he didn't really think of that.

"I didn't recognise you in the park, you know." James broke the silence after they both lay on their own beds. Alex didn't say anything, opting to just 'hmm.'

"You've got longer hair, now. Taller, too. Although not much," James smirked into the darkness. "And you haven't got that earring in anymore. But I guess only you could pull off all those moves on those men. They were soldiers, right?"

At Alex's almost-silent "yeah," James continued speaking.

"So what's the real reason you're in France? I believe you ran away, but not 'cause you don't want to not be put in a home. Oh, oh oh! Are you working for them again? Doing something for _them?_"

Alex didn't speak for a moment, gathering his thoughts. James knew only a bit about Alex; he knew that he worked for MI6, and was a 'sort-of' spy for them, but not that they kept on asking him to work for them. As such, Alex didn't want to tell James more than was necessary.

"When you strike the Empire, the Empire strikes back," Alex quoted from Star Wars Episode V, and knew that James would instantly understand this. When Alex first met James, he'd been wearing a Star Wars T-shirt. However, he wouldn't necessarily understand how that applied to Alex's situation.

He left it at that, and James didn't speak again.

**Alright, so yes, it's short - but the rest of the chapters most probably will be. This way, you'll most likely get faster updates… or maybe you wont. Meh. I will try to write as frequently as possible (right now, I'm writing for about half an hour - 2 hours a day, depending on the types of college days I have - short or late.)**

"**Dusseldorf" is the school James went to before his father sent him to Point Blanc academy - yes, in the second novel of AR, Alex was told this fact. I originally had "James" in there, but then when re-reading, I realised that Alex would know his name because his father had just shouted it…**

**The quote "When you strike the Empire, the Empire strikes back" is a quote from Star Wars Episode V - I haven't actually watched any Star Wars before, and honestly, I can't say that I really plan too… anyway, thank you to my friend Eric for the quote.**

**Told you I'd use it somewhere :D**

**Anyway, review, pelase. Leave me some wonderful feedback :D**


	11. Leaving

**Can I just say that if it wasn****'t for Fearlee pointing out that I said I'd be updating sooner, this chapter most likely wouldn't be out as soon? Yeah. I try to keep to my promises. So sue me.**

**Anyway, as for this story, I have a faint outline of where I want it to go, but not how it****'ll get there, so yes, some bits may be pointless, and I might say they're necessary to the story, though they may not be. I don't even have a point to make with that sentence. I just said it.**

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters aren****'t mine. Those you don't recognise, well, yeah. They're mine. Same for the plot. Bahaha… hahahahaha.**

Escape Chapter 11

_Alex Rider_

"_When you strike the Empire, the Empire strikes back," Alex quoted from Star Wars Episode V, and knew that James would instantly understand this. When Alex first met James, he'd been wearing a Star Wars T-shirt. However, he wouldn't necessarily understand how that applied to Alex's situation._

_He left it at that, and James didn't speak again._

Alex was awoken shortly after seven the next morning by two quick knocks on the door of his and James' room.

"Get up! I want you out and dressed in five minutes!" Mr Sprintz's gravely voice called, aggravated.

James mumbled incessantly, pushing his face into his pillow for a moment before his feet moved out of the sheets, falling to the floor with the rest of his body sliding down, ungracefully, until he knelt on the carpet.

Alex was wide awake at the first rap on the door, his eyes flashing open and taking in his surroundings through his one eye that wasn't smooched in the cushion of the sofa he was currently lying on. As the realisation settled in that he wasn't in danger, he sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings; James, the git, was on the nice and comfy-looking bed the hotel provided - and considering his father was a millionaire, who wouldn't be seen dead in anything less than a 5star hotel, he was guessing the bed was more than just comfy - three bags lay on the floor, one open with jeans spilling out of it, one zipped shut, and the other Alex's where he'd dropped it against a wardrobe on the side wall connected to the door earlier that night. On either side of James' bed, ordinary bedside table cabinets where placed there, with a clock that was facing towards the bed, out of Alex's sight, in front of several Euro coins and notes and James' watch.

Moving off his make-shift bed, he made his way to the en-suite bathroom to use the toilet and splash his face with water. Not having a toothbrush, and not wanting to use James', Alex left the bathroom mere minutes after he'd entered, turning to his friend who was pulling a top over his head.

"Bathroom's yours. You want me to wait for you, or go out and meet your dad in daylight?" He asked, unsure of the latter option - although Alex wasn't altogether afraid of Mr Sprintz, he just wasn't sure how he should approach the man. Casual? Formal? Certainly respectful, of course, but he'd rather James lead the way in the small talk before they got down to the real stuff.

"Wait. Knowing dad, he'll rip into me about manners and how I should 'show you around'. Like there's anywhere much to go but this room and the one out there, anyway," James said, bitter about his father.

Once James was done in the bathroom, they headed out together to see Mr Sprintz looking between his watch and the bedroom door, waiting for them to come out.

When he spotted the two boys, he glared at James, telling him "I'll deal with you in a minute, James. Now, Alex, wasn't it?" At Alex's nod, he continued. "I want to know all the details of what's happened, what you were doing in that park, and what you're going to do next. And don't lie to me. If there's one thing I hate, it's lies. Got that?"

Again, Alex nodded, and told his story of how Jack had been killed, his journey on the Euro Star train, being trapped inside of it with the SAS, and finally his escape to the park that turned into an ambush, seeing James there and running away with him.

"As for what's next, well, I don't really know. The main plan was to just get out of England, then just work my way around," he lied. If there was one thing Alex had learnt about people, it was that he couldn't trust anybody but himself. After how everybody had only used Alex, and had never been there for him, it was best to reveal as little as possible. For all he knew, Mr Sprintz had called the police already and had told them of what was happening. The less the man knew, the better - for Alex.

Past experiences, as well as his uncle's lessons, had taught Alex to always be prepared - always have a plan, no matter how irrational or impossible it may be to do. At least then, he'd have an objective to complete, and could then change the plan accordingly.

Alex _did_ have a plan, although sketchy, and wasn't about to tell Mr. Sprintz what it was. He kept his eyes trained on the man as he paced up and down the front room, considering Alex's words. Finally, a quiet 'hmm' came from him, accompanied but a sigh.

"So where do you think you'll be going next?" He asked.

Alex didn't answer for a moment, as if in thought, before answering.

"I don't really know. Me and Uncle Ian used to live in Spain for a little while when I was younger, and I know he still owns the house. Well, I guess I own it now," he frowned at this thought. "Anyway, I think I'm just gunna head there. It's familiar and we had alarms and actually, now that I think of it, I'm sure there was a few traps there, too, so I'd be pretty safe if anyone came after me," he finally concluded.

It wasn't until Alex had thought of the Spanish home that he realised that there actually was a few traps in the house – his uncle had told him not to touch certain things there, from vases to paintings, which he'd assumed had a high price on them, so Ian wouldn't want him near them in case they'd been accidentally knocked over. Now, though, Alex wondered if they served other purposes. One day, he'd find out, he promised himself.

"I see," the man said. "And how exactly do you expect to get there?"

"Buses, trains, taxis?" Alex questioned. "However I can, really. Travel only at night if need be. Steal a car or too. So long as I stay away from trouble, and try to not be in too many CCTV's, then it should be easy enough." Alex purposefully said the latter part of the sentence to Mr Sprintz. He knew, really, that staying out of sight of any government controlled CCTV's would be difficult in itself, not to mention satellite images that he'd have no control over, an impossibility. Yet if Mr Sprintz thought him to be dumb enough to expect to stay away from these, then perhaps he'd take pity on him and help him on his way. "Trust me when I say, sir, that I _wont_ be captured by them. Right now, I'd rather die. Better than die working for-"

He was cut off, as the hotel telephone rang. Mr Sprintz walked calmly over to it, and picked it up.

"Yes?" He sighed, impatient.

Alex only caught this side of the conversation, and really, the only thing Mr Sprintz said before the phone slammed in its holder was the 'yes'.

"You need to leave, now. They're here, trying to get up. The hotel is refusing them right now, but they wont hold them off for long. Go!" He was walking into his bedroom as he shouted this, looking over his shoulder at Alex. Alex immediately ran to his own, grabbing for his bag.

Alex was lucky; they were on the second floor up, and facing away from the main road the hotel was placed on, and consequently were the SAS were placed, waiting.

Strapping his bag onto his back, he walked over to the door leading onto the balcony. He was just placing his left leg over the railing when Mr Sprintz came back to him, and handed him a large amount of Euros.

"Take this, boy, and run. Go out onto the fields, and run to the trees. Head south-west for at least 25miles, and it will take you to the Calais Ville. It's the closest train station, yet small enough to not attract too much attention. Get on whatever train you can there. Now go, go!"

He almost pushed Alex off the balcony in the rush, before turning himself around, heading towards the front door.

Alex wasn't sure what the man was going to do next, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn't of consequence. The only thing was was getting away, and getting away _now._

Lifting himself over the railings – finally – after shoving the money in his backpack, he slithered down until his fingers were on the bottom ledge. Swinging his feet inwards, he let go of his grip and dropped down three metres onto the balcony below. Repeating the same actions again, he dropped onto the ground, listening for any movement.

Not hearing any footsteps signalling the soldiers' movements, he took a deep breath, waited for a moment, and pushed off, legging it for the tree line.

He wasn't stopped, and it was with that that Alex started his journey north, heading for what was really the closest train station – Calais-Fréthun, less than 10miles away.

**Okay, so not exactly a long chapter, I know. But I felt it had to end here. I'm thinking, once I've posted more of this story – if not completed it, I'll post outtakes from this story; For example, Jack's death, maybe an extremely short chapter of Mr Sprintz's point of view of this chapter (including the phone call, maybe), and reasons for why the SAS weren't immediately allowed up into Sprintz room, and how they found Alex in the first place. Just wondering if any of you would be interested in that?**

**Anyway, rate and review, please :D**

**I'm thinking of having a sequel for this story (I'm planning on Alex getting away for the ending, but that may change – right now, I'm not too sure I want him getting away, but meh,) where Alex is forced, somehow, into going back to England for one reason or another, and is faced with either being captured, or taking on MI6, and doing quite a severe beating to them.**

**How many of you would like that?**


	12. A New Beginning

**Thought I'd give you a treat for Halloween. Hopefully, this is posted on Halloween... I write the authors notes as I start the chapter, so if I'm not distracted, then it should be posted the same day I write it. Woo!**

**Anyway, sorry about the long wait. Running out of ideas on how it should go. Also, any ideas for how it should end?**

**I don't own AR, btw. Just in case you were wondering.**

_Lifting himself over the railings – finally – after shoving the money in his backpack, he slithered down until his fingers were on the bottom ledge. Swinging his feet inwards, he let go of his grip and dropped down three metres onto the balcony below. Repeating the same actions again, he dropped onto the ground, listening for any movement._

_Not hearing any footsteps signalling the soldiers' movements, he took a deep breath, waited for a moment, and pushed off, sprinting it for the tree line._

_He wasn't stopped, and it was with that that Alex started his journey north, heading for what was really the closest train station – Calais-Fréthun, less than 10miles away._

Alex wasn't too sure whether or not Mr Sprintz had known about the train station just 10 miles away when he'd told Alex to head to Calais Ville, another train station 25 miles away. His untrusted opinion of adults in general, and especially one who could have called who knows who during the night whilst Alex was asleep made him more believing that Mr Sprintz had lied to him on purpose; that he was setting Alex up and that someone would be lying in wait at Ville, like they had been at the Parc.

But then, maybe he wasn't lying at all, and was simply unaware of Calais-Fréthun, the station he was going to head to.

Alex had plenty of time to wonder about this as he jogged in a slight pour down of rain to the station, and it was only after he'd guessed he'd travelled seven and a half miles out of the ten that perhaps Mr Sprintz had known Alex would have heard of the other station, and head there instead. And maybe there was a trap at Fréthun.

He stopped in his tracks, mentally considering this. With everything that had happened to Alex, he wouldn't be surprised if this would be the case. But he needed to get out of France, or at the very least Calais, the city he was in now.

Public transport was out, he decided. He shouldn't have even considered going to a train station after the debacle on the Eurostar train. So, no trains, no buses, no trams, no taxis.

_Although, taxis' pose less of a threat. Little CCTV that's only recorded back to the central base, and drivers wouldn't really care about who I am,_ Alex thought, considering this last option.

Fleetingly, he thought about finding and hot-wiring a car, but dismissed this idea when he realised he was more than likely to be stopped in a stolen car than he was in a taxi.

The only problem now was actually finding a taxi, which was easily solved when he came to a hotel. Being only two and a half miles away from a train station did have it's good points, with hotels popping up all around them.

He opened the doors, and stepped inside, noticing the receptionist at the desk, awake and ready for the new day.

"Bonjour. Je me demandais si vous aviez un numéro pour un service de taxi, s'il vous plaît?" he asked the man.

"Ah, oui, je vais appeler un pour vous, si vous le souhaitez," the man replied swiftly, asking Alex if he wanted him to call for one.

After a quick nod of his head towards the receptionist, Alex sat and waited on one of the couches in the welcome area until the taxi had arrived. He made sure to stay out of sight of the CCTV hanging above the doors to the elevators as he did so, not wanting his face to appear in them.

He contemplated how whoever came through the door had found him in the hotel room. More than likely, if it were the SAS, they'd tracked the cars license plate number he and James had escaped in at the park, realised it was Mr Sprintz's car, and found out which hotel he was booked into.

This wouldn't have even taken them an hour to do, though, so wondered at why they had waited until morning to collect him, when it would have been easier during the night whilst he slept.

He figured, though, that because Mr Sprintz would splash out and stay in a five star hotel, that privacy would be something the hotel specialised in. Despite the SAS being high up, this wasn't their country; they couldn't break into a hotel and break into a room a famous man was staying in without the French authorities approval, or else there would be major complications for the British. So, this most likely held them back.

After all, although the French and the British were friendly neighbours, neither one would like the others army in their country.

At this thought, the taxi the receptionist had called parked at the curb, and he climbed into the back. Although it would have been more polite to have sat in the passenger seat, there was more of a chance anyone looking for him would be able to spot him from there, using speed cameras to spot him.

Just as he was about to tell the driver to head to Gravelines, at least 30 miles away, the door opposite where he sat opened, and someone sat down.

James.

Alex looked at the boy, before exclaiming, "what are you doing here?"

He was shocked; how did James manage to find him? If a boy like him could follow him, he had no chance against intelligence agencies.

James didn't get to answer, before the driver got annoyed at the hold up.

"Where you want to go?" he asked in stuttering-annoyed English.

"Gravelines, please," Alex answered. He'd get his answer out of James on the trip.

The driver started the car, and the meter, Alex noticed.

"So, James, how'd you find me?"

James looked smug when Alex turned to face him to ask his question.

"Well, it wasn't really that hard. I figured you wouldn't go where my dad told you to, and unlike him, _I_ know where the closest train station was," yeah, he was definitely smug, sitting up straight in his seat with his head partially thrown back. "So, I went in that direction. Though, I lost track of you for most of it. Then I saw some footsteps in the mud when you must have crossed it, and walked where you went, and saw you going into the taxi." He was still grinning as he finished his tale.

But Alex was still suspicious.

"How on earth did you manage to run seven and a half miles?" He didn't mean to sound condescending, but James wasn't exactly one to exercise. Well, his thumbs might be in top-fit condition, considering the boy loved to play video games.

James shrugged. "The girls love it when you work out, Alex. So I've been putting a few hours in at the gym every week. Look at these badboys!"

He took off his jacket, and pushed up his sleeves to show Alex a slight bit of muscle on his arm, that Alex guessed would have simply been achieved as James aged, anyway.

"Wow, impressive." Sarcasm was a strong point with Alex

"Yeah, well, where we going, anyway?" James changed the subject, noting the sarcasm and not being happy about it.

"Gravelines," Alex replied, confused. Hadn't James heard when he told the driver this?

"No, I mean after that. 'Cause you need to get out of here."

"Oh, right. I have a plan. If you want to join me on this plan, then fine. But I can't tell you about it, in case, you know, you get taken," Alex tried to scar James off, "they might torture you and stuff to get answers, but you won't have any, so they'll most probably let you live." He didn't really want James along with him; it wasn't that he didn't like James – he did. It was just that it was easier by himself. He didn't have to worry or care about anyone else, that way. And if he failed in getting away, then he only had himself to blame. Not to mention that James was a kid who grew up privileged. If James started to whine about not sleeping in a hotel, then he would have to leave him behind.

But James wasn't scared off at Alex's answers. It was almost as if he got even more excited about this. Alex thought there might be something wrong with him.

"Wicked! This will be so cool," James said. "But what if we get separated? I'll need to know where we're going so we can meet up."

Alex smiled in his mind, but outwardly kept his face from showing emotion. "If we get separated, James, it'll be because you weren't doing what I was telling you to do, and I'll leave you behind because of it. This is serious stuff, and I need to trust you to always do as I say. Can you do that?"

Alex saw some of the excitement leave James' eyes, as he realised he was leaving one authority figure behind, just to be passed onto another.

"Fine," he muttered sourly. "Yeah, you can trust me."

"Good. Oh, and do you have any money?"

James pulled out his wallet from his back pocket – Alex wasn't sure when he'd managed to grab it, or if it was always there – before Alex snatched it out of the boys hands.

"Hey!" James proclaimed. "Give that back." He tried to grab it from Alex, but he simply turned his back to James to keep him away. Opening it, Alex took out the credit cards he found there, and threw the wallet back at James. He'd noticed that James had at five twenty Euro notes in it.

He started to bend the cards to break them up, and when they'd snapped, he rolled down the window and put his hand out of it, releasing the cards.

"You got a phone on you, James?" he asked to the shocked boy.

He didn't, and after that, they remained quiet for the last five minutes of the journey.

When they got to Gravelines, they stepped out of the taxi, and Alex made James pay the driver; he wasn't going to waste his money now when he knew he'd need it at a later date.

He'd decided he was going to have to use a train in Gravelines; there simply wasn't another way he could think of getting to where he wanted to in a quick amount of time.

But first, he needed to change his appearance – his hair was slowly losing the blackness it had gained in the Eurostar train, when he'd used oil from underneath a car to dye it, as the rain poured down and washed it away, so stopped off at what appeared to be the French equivalent of Debenhams, and made James buy three hats. One for him, one for James, and one as a spare in case he lost his. They also purchased some simple black gloves, and two cheap jackets that could be worn inside and out. The inside was a bright red, and the outside a dark blue. Good for a simple change of clothing in case they needed it.

Finally, they headed to the train station, where James bought two tickets to Dijorn, in eastern France. This would just be the first stop of many, and as they got on the train an hour later with nobody stopping them, Alex hoped that they wouldn't be stopped on the next part of their trip.

**Not a long chapter, but I felt it had to end here, at the beginning of their new adventure. Unbeta'd and unchecked for spelling/grammar, btw, so sorry for any mistakes.**

**I decided to keep James in the story; didn't want to use him as a two-chapter chump. Hopefully, I won't regret it in the coming chapters.**

**This might also take on a more fun approach with James in it; not too sure if you all would want that, though. It won't be too funny, or too unrealistic, if I can help it. But like above, with their convo in the taxi, and Alex kinda degrading James a little bit, Would you want that?**

**I've got a fun thing coming up, hopefully, if I can write it right. Kudos if anyone gets what I'm thinking of including by this clue:**

Besides mustard, what else is Dijorn famous for?

**Kinda got the idea from Coach Trip, and I don't think anyone's ever written about this in their story before, so at least it'll be original.**


	13. The Ultimate Chase

**First, I'd like to apologise for the incorrect spelling on Dijon. Either it was a typo, or most likely, because I was only imagining how the word was spelt in my head, then that was how I interpreted it. I didn't actually use google maps to get the name, so oh well. Rock on Coach Trip!**

**You're a lucky bunch, let me tell you. Thanks to the snow that's hit is in the UK, I'm pretty much snowed in (although I bet most of the schools in my area will be closed on Monday, yet mine wont – happened last year, and there was even a Facebook page created about it to show our anger about it, which we, the older years, found pretty amusing), and so was able to write this in a day.**

**For anyone who lives in Canada/ a place where there's snow pretty much year round, I've got this to ask: How on Earth do you, and your country, work? Seriously, if you'd like to give the UK some hints and tips, it'd be welcome.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Grr.**

Escape, 13

_Alex Rider_

_Finally, they headed to the train station, where James bought two tickets to Dijon in eastern France. This would just be the first stop of many, and as they got on the train an hour later with nobody stopping them, Alex hoped that they wouldn't be stopped on the next part of their trip._

They exited Dijon's main train station roughly three hours after getting on the train. James was cranky, Alex could tell by the look on the boy's face, but didn't speak up of it. Instead, he simply asked Alex what his master plan was.

"To get out of France," Alex replied, not wanting to divulge any further information in the train station; who knew who was there, after all.

James wasn't happy with that answer, though. "Yeah, but _how_ are we gunna get out of France?"

"By moving, James." Alex looked sharply at the boy, communicating that he wouldn't be saying anything further.

This put James in an even worse mood; he wanted an adventure, wanted to be running all over France with buildings exploding and car chases that inevitably ended with rocket shooting out of the exhaust at the enemy.

Alex hoped that the situation wouldn't come to that, at the very least. _Maybe there will be a car chase_, Alex mused. _Who knows what the future will hold?_

Alex dragged James into the main reception of the train station, and bought a ticket to Morteau, just outside the border of Switzerland. This, at least, gave James an idea of where Alex intended them to go, but unfortunately they'd have to wait for two and a half hours for the next train – Morteau was a small town, and as such didn't have many trains running to it.

Instead of waiting in one spot for two and a half hours, which was risky, Alex had to admit, he decided that restocking of supplies was something they might as well take care of, and return in just over two hours time for the next part of the journey.

The first stop Alex deemed necessary was to restock on food and drink, so he took James to a small supermarket close to a bundle of hotels. Not wanting to carry too many things, and with the chance that the bag they were going to store the purchases may be lost at any given point, he grabbed as few things as possible; two pre-made sandwiches, four bags of crisps, two bottles of pepsi, and two bottles of water. He thought it should last them until tomorrow afternoon, maybe tomorrow evening. As they were headed to the tills, Alex saw some peppermint polos, and decided to grab those, too, for no reason other they were a great way to build water inside the mouth – if they ran out of water and became thirsty, this was a good way for them to stave off the feeling of hunger _and_ of parched throats.

After paying, Alex took James to his next stop: a tourist shop. He let James pick out where he wanted to visit whilst in the town, but he didn't see many things he'd like to do, besides go on a tour of Mustard factories, which Alex put a stop to – he'd seen one of the factory visits on Coach Trip, a show he'd watched whilst in hospital and there'd been nothing else on during the day. Not only did the people on the coach trip find the tour boring, but also stunk for the rest of the day.

When James complained about not being allowed to do something he wanted to do, Alex told the both of what he'd heard, mentioning 'girls' and 'off-putting smell'. Needless to say, James sulked, but didn't complain much further.

He suggested that they visit Musée de la Vie Bourguignonne, where they could see "folklores costumes", as one of the brochures James had picked up suggested.

It was only on the way there that Alex started to feel like something was wrong. They had to pass through Ville Centre, one of the main open shopping squares, in order to get to the museum, and being a Saturday, Alex was sure the Centre should have been full to the brim of people buying the goods. In a way, it was; passers-by were rushing from one side of the Centre to the next, stalls had plenty of people surrounding them, looking at what was on offer, yet most people were only doing just that; browsing. One or two were actually buying, but no more.

That raised the hairs on the back of Alex's neck. It wasn't natural. He'd never visited Dijon before, but he was sure that this wasn't the norm. After all, if people just looked, no one would get any business, and no body would survive.

Which meant either the economical crisis had seriously hit the people of Dijon, or there was another reason they were here.

He grabbed and squeezed James' arm; a signal they'd come up with to convey to James that something was amiss, before he led James away from the Centre, to the right of where they'd first entered. This way would lead them back to the train station, Alex knew.

But it wouldn't only take them to the train station – after all, their train wasn't set to leave for at least another hour and a quarter, and Alex doubted he'd be able to purchase another two tickets before trouble started.

And he was sure trouble _was_ going to start, and soon.

No, it would also take them to Cour de la Gare, the departure point of one of Dijons main way of travelling – the Segway.

Although Alex would prefer to travel by car, he knew he wouldn't have the time to either steal one without brining attention to himself and James, and he also wouldn't have the time to break into one, and them to hot-wire it.

So the Segway it would have to be.

As he rounded a corner that would make him and James out of sight of whoever was watching them in Ville Centre, he heard the movement of running feet.

He smiled – he knew they would move when he couldn't see, the cowards.

They started to run as soon as they were out of sight, Alex pointing James in the direction of the Segways.

He quickly took care of the lone security guard who was making sure the remaining Segways that hadn't been used on the latest tour with a running kick to the stomach, followed by an elbow to the neck as the unsuspecting guard crumpled forward. He was knocked out cold within seconds, and Alex quickly jumped onto a Segway. There was only room for one on it, and so Alex had to waste further seconds showing James how to start and control it.

His uncle had taken him and Jack into Bolton to see them take on Chelsea - and subsequently lose to the blue team - when Alex was 12. He'd booked them in to stay for the weekend and the following Monday as it was a bank holiday, and so he was off from work and Alex from school. Not only had they seen the match, but on the Friday night had gone to a local ice rink, and the following evening in celebration of the win had gone on a Segway tour of the stadium. Although Alex would have preferred to tour Chelsea's home stadium, moving up and down and around corners on the Segway had been a lot of fun, especially as Jack just couldn't seem to get a hold of how to control the machine... even if to control it all you had to do was lean forwards, backwards or side to side, depending on which direction you wished to go.

James hadn't had the same privilege as he had, though, and wasn't as confident. As they moved away from the unconscious guard, he was constantly moving too close to Alex for the blonde boys liking. Before reaching out to hold onto James' handle bars, he looked back, noticing that there was around two dozen men running in their direction, but still 200 or so meters away.

The men – soldiers, Alex thought - caught up to them as they started to move – it took quite a few seconds to get up to the maximum speed of 12 miles per hour, and in that time the soldiers had rid the gap between them to less than 50 meters.

But when they hit maximum speed, even if only at 12 mph, it was enough to distance them once again – one of the quickest men in the world, Usain Bolt, a 100meter sprinter, could run at 23 miles per hour, but that was only for 100 meters. These men were soldiers, not sprinters, and as such weren't trained like Bolt. Their average speed was most likely somewhere in the region of 14 mph on a track. On a cobble-stone street with civilians walking in both directions, they were obstructed and restricted to less than 10mph, Alex guessed.

The soldiers had figured this out, too, for they veered off to the cars lining the streets – they'd had people waiting in cars, Alex saw as he looked back quickly once again.

Cars, of course, were much quicker than the Segways, but Alex wasn't about to give up his and James' mode of transport – whilst it brought attention to them, it was also a way for them to save energy; Alex didn't know how fit James was, didn't know how long he could run for without needing to stop.

But the cars were obstructed, too, by the people walking in the streets – this was the centre of a shopping town, where although there was roads, most people walked rather than drive – yet they made more progress than on foot.

Alex leaned to the right, bringing James with him, and bumped up onto a pathway. The main street that they had been on had dozens of small alleyways, and Alex intended to take them down one where a car couldn't go.

But then he heard the sound of sirens at the other end of the alley he was about to turn onto. Not wanting to risk what sounded like the police seeing him – he assumed the police were after him; what other crime could there be on the streets of Dijon at this time of day, with soldiers after them than the theft of two Segways? The guard must have come too and phoned them.

And if the police saw him and James on the Segways, well, they'd get him for sure. People moved out of the way for police cars, after all, and so they'd have no obstructions like the soldiers did.

Instead, the boys moved further down the main road, away from the shopping streets, the soldiers keeping them within sight. Three alleyways after the first, Alex decided that the sirens had long past, and that the soldiers were too close for his liking. Twice when he'd looked back he'd seen a gun pointed out of the front car's passenger window, and had ducked in front of as many passengers as he could – he doubted the gun had bullets in it, but rather was more than likely a dart gun with some sort of anaesthetic inside as they wanted him alive. Without a clear shot, though, they wouldn't be able to get him – or James.

The fourth alleyway was perfect for the boys – it was just wide enough to fit them both in side by side, and had a couple walking towards them. When the couple saw the boys on the Segways, they moved into a single file so they could get past, but moved side-to-side again shortly after they'd passed each other. The car couldn't follow them down the alleyway, and they also couldn't fire because of the couple. By the time the couple had moved out of the way, Alex and James were long gone, too far away for the limited distance the dart gun could fire.

**Sorry for any spelling mistakes.**

**I have two main hopes for this story, that don't include people liking it/ and me finally finishing it: 1, It stays realistic, and 2, It stays original. I think this is the only story that is based around Alex running away from MI6 (although I guess there might be one or two others, but if so, I haven't read them), and I also don't believe that anyone has included Segways in their stories, either. So hopefully, you'll all agree that this is original.**

**In regards to staying realistic, I'd just like to say that all of the places mentioned in my story ARE real, and I do research into where these places are in regards to how far away from each other they are. For instance, the hotel Alex first passed way-back when was a real hotel, and IS close to the Euro Tunnel.**

**However, I couldn't find on Google maps where the museum used is, and so placed it close to Ville Centre, but I can tell you it is in Dijon, and does show folklores costumes (among other things). So if you live in Djon, or France, or have been there, and are like "WTF – that isn't anywhere near there!" my apologies. I couldn't really think of what else to put.**

**Oh, and I think that Cour de la Gare place that has the Segways is close to a train station, too, btw. I only looked at it on Google Maps (my favourite site right now, I swear) and there seemed to be train tracks, so if it's wrong, blame Google.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked, and I hope you review.**


	14. The Plan Starts

**Okay, so ever since I started on the last chapter, and introduced the Segways, I've had this idea in my mind. Thanks must go to QI for the idea, and, of course, my brain which pieced it altogether to make it a chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I sadly don't own Alex Rider. Le sigh. Was that French?**

**Anyway, on with the show**

Escape Chapter 14

_Alex Rider_

_The car couldn't follow them down the alleyway, and they also couldn't fire because of the couple. By the time the couple had moved out of the way, Alex and James were long gone, too far away for the limited distance the dart gun could fire._

Alex wasn't all together sure of where he was to go next. It was obvious to him that he couldn't go to Morteau's train station because the soldiers would be watching it, but at the same time he couldn't just stay on the streets. Although it was day time, it was also the middle of the week – children should be in school right now, so two young boys in the streets would stand out like a sore thumb.

It had been an hour since they'd escaped from the sights of the car, and fifty minutes since Alex had dumped his and James' Segways in the Saône river not ten kilometres from the Swiss border. Alex was sad as he noticed the road sign stating this close to the river, knowing he wouldn't be entering Switzerland without further chases and fighting.

They were currently travelling along as many back alleyways and small side streets as possible, James questioning Alex on what they were going to do next.

"I don't know, James" Alex said, exasperated. This was the third time in an hour he'd asked, and Alex still hadn't gotten a plan together just yet. One was forming, but he was reluctant to piece it all together; the plan was a dangerous one. Not in the death-could-happen dangerous way, but in the I-might-not-escape-and-end-up-in-MI6's-clutches way. Or even the DGSE's clutches, the French equivalent of MI6. He was sure they'd cottoned on to what was happening, and it was them in the marketplace, not MI6. There was simply no way MI6 could have tracked him so quickly and set everything up. The French, however, had access to satellite cameras, CCTV cameras, and not to mention would actually be able to stage something like that. The amount of procedures MI6 would have broke if they'd partially taken over a French town... well, it could have led to the beginning of a war.

"Well," James paused, thinking of what to ask next. "Why'd we have to ditch the Segs? They were quicker _and_ it meant we didn't have to walk," he moaned.

Alex frowned, annoyed. The answer was pretty simple, of course. "Because the Segways had tracking devices, in case they were stolen, _as we did_. Not to mention that we're already getting glances in our direction from people. The Segways would've just made us easier to follow – people would talk, and they'd find us."

"Ohh. So what are we gunna do now?"

Alex sent him a glare. It was the same question he'd asked not three minutes earlier, only rephrased.

"If you don't stop asking me that, I'm going to leave you behind is what I'm gunna do!" he said quietly, almost whispering but making his tone harsh to convey his annoyance.

James shrank away slightly, before facing forward with his bottom lip out slightly – he was sulking, and pouting.

Alex sighed, slightly sorry for his outburst. "James," he waited for the boy to look at him with sad eyes. "Look, mate. I told you that you could only come along if you did exactly what I said to do, didn't annoy me, and so long as you could keep up. You're doing two of those things right. Just... stop asking me the same question when the answer's not going to change. When it does, I'll tell you, all right?"

James nodded, looking down, abashed.

The answer to his questions came at around six in the evening, as the sun started to go down and the moon came up. It was dark enough for the street lights to have turned on automatically just fifteen minutes before, and for James to have started to get the shivers, despite the fairly heavy jacket and gloves he wore.

Alex was fine for now, but he could feel the coldness seep into his skin. He knew that soon enough, James would start to complain about this, and so they needed shelter – warm shelter.

They'd walked close to the main road leading into the town's city centre, and he knew there would be hotels close by. Alex found one in a shabby looking building, a run-down place that would serve it's purpose well. He entered the main lobby – or rather, a corridor with a desk inbuilt into the wall that served as a welcome area. Moving to the desk, he asked the server in French if he knew of any youth hostels within a fifteen minute walk.

"Non – le plus proche est en Switeland, à travers la frontière" the man said, before looking back down at the folders on the desk.

Alex sighed – the closest was in Switzerland, and there was no way they would be able to cross the border tonight. It would be heavily guarded. If Alex was by himself, then he would attempt it, but with James along for the ride, he knew there were too many factors to take into consideration that could – and most probably would – go wrong.

"Merci." He said, before turning away towards the door. James was rubbing his hands together, trying to keep them warm close to the entrance, and followed Alex as he left.

"They booked up?" He asked, wondering why they weren't getting a room.

"Yeah. Said we need to get closer to town for the bigger hotels with more rooms." Alex lied. He'd realised that the plan he didn't want to use was going to have to be put into action – Morteau was full of soldiers, too many soldiers for his liking. They needed to get out, and soon.

But he knew that all public transport routes would be monitored until they heard news of his whereabouts. They might be able to get out using taxis, but they'd only take them so far, and would cost an extortionate amount of money.

His plan would get them out of Morteau, for sure.

He didn't bother to tell James his plan – he couldn't trust the boy to keep his mouth shut, and if the plan went according to schedule, then the spontaneity of what happens and what is said could prove to be the deciding factor in the outcome.

"But..." James interrupted his thinking. "If we get closer to the town, then aren't we more likely to be captured?"

"Well, yes," Alex replied. "But if we're careful, then we'll be able to avoid them. And it might be better if we do get a place in the town. They'll more than likely be more on edge around the quieter places then in the most used ones. That's where they'll expect us to be."

"Ohh. Good thinking."

"Oh, and James. No matter what happens, make sure you keep your bag with you at all costs, alright?" James looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean? You think someone might happen?"

Alex shrugged. "You can never be too careful. And I don't know whether or not something will happen. But even when we get a hotel, keep your bag by your side, and grab it if someone enters the room, got it?"

"Yeah. Got it."

They kept quiet after that, as they walked toward the city centre. It would cost them more energy to speak, where that energy could be used to keep their bodies warm.

As they entered onto one of the streets to bring them into town, Alex steered James into the path that would lead to a hotel, and also one that would take them to the train station that they had tickets for.

James didn't recognise this, though – Alex had been keeping him in the dark for a while, choosing the streets carefully that would lead them to around the back of the train station, opposite of where they'd entered just hours before.

The hotels were plentiful here, but Alex chose the one that looked as it it would be the cheapest, the one that would have an eye kept on it.

They'd barely went up the steps leading to its front doors before they were grabbed from behind.

Alex smiled sadly – this was the end. It had been a great trip into the East of France, but it was ending, now. Next, it would be into the DGSE's hands, and from there, well, Alex didn't know.

The two men who had grabbed them turned them around, throwing them back into the wall of the hotel.

They were in civilian clothing, but that meant nothing – they weren't exactly going to parade around in black gear with the words 'DGSE' on the back of their shirts.

"Well, Frank, look who we have here!" The one holding James said. His accent confirmed to Alex that they were French, and so were, in fact, part of the DGSE rather than MI6. The gun he showed the boys strapped to his side only confirmed the fact that he wasn't some sort of robber.

'Frank' looked at the two boys. "Hmm. But which one do we want, Al?"

They both looked at the boys – both with fairly long blond hair, dark jackets with hoods up, about the same height and age.

"Alright. Which one of you is Alex?"

The real Alex was about to stand forward, when James surprised him, and put his hand up.

"I'm Alex," he said confidently. He surprised him even further as he turned to the side and swiftly brought his leg up and out, kicking Al in stomach. There wasn't much power to it, and Al had stepped away slightly so he didn't take more than a few seconds to recover. Al grabbed James by the neck, and put him into a headlock.

Spontaneity. Such a wonderful thing.

But Alex wasn't about to let James take the rap – it wasn't part of the plan, after all, and so stepped forward, and said "Actually, I'm Alex."

Frank had been looking at Al and James, and looked quickly towards Alex.

"Hey Al! This one's saying he's Alex."

To prove his point, he did the exact same thing James had done – turned to the side, brought his leg up and out, and kicked at Frank's stomach.

Frank had been doing martial arts since he was eight, and his training served him well. He quickly grabbed Alex's foot, pulled him to him, and whilst Alex was still unbalanced, grabbed onto his flailing hands and kicked the back of his knee of the foot that was still attached to the ground. This sent Alex straight to the floor, face first, and trapped with Frank holding his hands behind his back.

Alex had purposely left his foot out too long when he'd kicked Frank – he'd been taught to snap it back as quickly as possible after the attack by his teacher; or else the exact situation he was in would take place.

But what Frank and Al didn't know was that Alex wanted to be captured – and certainly wanted James to be captured, too. James had the bag with him, after all.

But what Alex hadn't expected was to be knocked unconscious by a rag around his mouth. He'd thought they'd keep him awake, in case someone wanted to question him sooner rather than later.

But it didn't matter in the scheme of things. He knew he'd be awake within a few hours, and where he knew they would take him – and James – took a lot longer than that by travelling in a van.

Alex would just wait them out, wait for the perfect opportunity to escape.

His last memory was of being moved. He didn't hear, or see, anything else after that.

**Oh yeah. Guess who updated within a week! Can anyone guess what's going to happen in the next chapter? Me thinks not!**

**What about this plan – anyone have any ideas as to what it is?**

**All I'm going to say, is that keeping this story as original as possible is going to be taken to new heights. I VERY much doubt that anyone's done where I'm taking this before.**

**Mwuahaha.**

**Review?**


	15. The Great Escape, P1

**You can thank my sister for this chapter being uploaded today. I've been banned to my room because she's having friends round, and I had nothing else to do.**

**Hopefully you'll like it, maybe you won't. I'm still trying to keep it original, but the great idea I think I mentioned in the last chapter's notes has been moved to the next chapter. Had to, I'm afraid. I think the escape bit was original, though.**

**Disclaimer: In the words of the brilliant Phoebe Buffay; **_**Not not mine, not not mine, not not mine.**_

**Unbeta'd, so there may be a few mistakes.**

Chapter 15

_Alex Rider_

_But it didn't matter in the scheme of things. He knew he'd be awake within a few hours, and where he knew they would take him – and James – took a lot longer than that by travelling in a van._

_Alex would just wait them out, wait for the perfect opportunity to escape. _

_His last memory was of being moved. He didn't hear, or see, anything else after that._

Looking at the time on his watch, Alex guessed that they'd been in the van for over seven hours.

At twenty-one minutes past one in the morning, Alex knew that it wouldn't be long before the van reached it's destination, and the boys would be deployed into the DGSE's clutches. But Alex had no intentions of that happening whatsoever.

His hands and legs, miraculously, were free of restraints, but with the limited amount of light his watch provided as he repeatedly pressed the 'light' button, he knew there was a clear reason for this; the walls, floor, and ceiling of the van were covered with wired railing, meaning that even if he found a way out of that, he'd have to go through a further steel wall that the van itself was made out of. That would take quite a while to do, of course, and in that time doubtlessly the agents would have heard a commotion and would knock James and Alex back out.

So Alex would have to make sure that they didn't knock either boy out. To do so would mean capture, and that simply wouldn't do. He wasn't going to be a prisoner to anyone any more, not if he could help it.

Alex repeatedly pressed the 'light' button on his watch, keeping the van illuminated. James was across from him, slowly coming too as Alex made his other observations; their bag was gone, but the drinks, sandwiches, crisps and the mints were rolling on the floor with the movements on the van. None of their extra clothing was left, and nor was the money they'd kept in the bag – but Alex was happy to note as he frisked himself that the money he'd kept on the inside pockets of his jacket was still there, as well as that hidden in the bottom of his trainers under his foot, but the spare change of Euros in his trousers was gone.

He was thankful that they'd left the food and drinks; they were stage one of his plan to escape. It was a huge risk for Alex to take, not knowing whether or not the plan would go accordingly. If they hadn't left the items, he wasn't sure how he and James would get away. He was sure he would have come up with something – his mind seemed to constantly be able to come up with on-the-spot plans – but not sure if he could have put that plan into place with as few injuries to himself and James as possible,

This plan, although risky, would mean that they'd be able to get away easily. Getting away outweighed the risk, and as the SAS motto states, _He Who Dares_. But Alex preferred to think of that motto in terms of Del Boy Trotter, with his _He Who Dares, Wins,_ than the SAS's motto.

James was moaning and groaning, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. Alex crawled over to him on his hands and knees, careful to be as quiet as possible. He rolled James onto his back, and put his hand over the other boys mouth, hinting for him to stop his moaning. He didn't know if the agents could hear their movements or not, but right now, Alex wanted them to think they were still unconscious until it was the right time according to his plan.

As James' mind finally cleared of the Nitrous Oxide induced haze, he looked to Alex's body hovering over his in the flickering light. If he was a girl, he was sure he'd have thought the moment as romantic. Maybe in a different context, too. Being trapped in a van by people who had the power to do many-a bad things to you didn't really bring out the red hearts and the other connotations of love, if he were honest with himself.

Alex bent towards James' ear, "Don't speak – nod your head for yes, shake it for no. Do you understand?" he questioned.

At James' nod of his head, yes, Alex spoke again in as quiet a tone as possible. "When we get out, if one of the agents stay in the van, I'll take him out. You grab our bag. It should be in the front of the cab. Understand?"

Again, James nodded, and with that, Alex gave his final command, "I'm going to make a ruckus. Someone will open the door, and I'll attack him first, then you get out, and go to the passengers side of the van, and grab the bag. You _must_ get the bag, at all costs. Got it?"

Again, James nodded his head, and Alex moved away from him to the front of the van. He knocked on the wall, and when he got no response, he started to bang on it. For over five minutes, he knocked and screamed for them to let the boys go. But again, it was useless. The van continued it's journey, and Alex and James were still in the back.

Alex had figured this into his plan – the boys were locked up tight in the back, so there'd be very little reason for the soldiers to get out and check on them until the they were in some underground cavern of which Alex didn't know the layout, and so would be easy to find if he did escape. And so he waited for the perfect opportunity, and when the van swerved to the right around a corner, he allowed the van to move him with the rotation, and fell head-first into the wall. He screamed, as loud as a new born baby, trying to fill it with as much anguish and pain as he possibly could. When the van straightened up after it's turn, he carried on screaming, begging for help.

The vehicle turned into another right, and Alex guessed they were in a town or city at this point, as opposed to the highways they'd more than likely mostly used to transport the boys. This meant there was more turns and more than likely more people out and about, even if it was after one in the morning.

The van made more turns, and each time Alex hit the walls, screaming in pain. He wasn't seriously injured – there'd be some light bruising on the front of his arms where they'd slammed into the railings, and perhaps some on his upper torso. But with the loud noises he was making, as well as those of James, who he'd told to do as he was, they would draw the attention of any passers-by. If a single person were to report the van and the screams to the French police, the van could be stopped and searched. Although the DGSE would easily be able to deal with it, the police would still wonder as to why they were taking in boys from other countries. They might inform their families, who'd inform their friends. More people would hear about it. They would report it to the news. MI6 would hear about it. The British populace would hear about it. They would demand for Alex to be released, say he was just an innocent boy, on holiday when he was captured from his hotel room in the middle of the night by guys in balaclavas and shoved into a van.

The soldiers wouldn't want that to happen, and so, Alex guessed, would stop the van and attempt to knock them unconscious again.

Alex guessed right. Fifteen minutes after the first scream from Alex, the van slowed to a stop, and both boys heard the sound of two doors opening and slamming shut.

He grabbed hold of one of the Pepsi drinks in his left hand, opened it, and shoved what was in his other hand straight into the open neck of the bottle, before replacing the lid in as loose a hold as possible. He shook the bottle, although it didn't need to be shaken too much - all of the rolling of the van had done that for him – before the chain reaction took place.

It's a well known fact to pretty much all school boys that if you mix a peppermint sweet in with that of a fizzy drink, the carbon dioxide wants to escape at a rapid speed, and will explode. The pressure of carbon dioxide in the fizzy drink mixed with the uneven surface of the mint allow for the gas bubbles to mass together, increasing the rate at which the carbon dioxide escapes.

Alex threw the bottle away from him, down onto the road, and watched as it hit the concrete only to bounce straight back up at more than 60mph, directly at the two men opening the doors. One was slightly further back, ready to take on any attacks the boys might give, and avoided the bottle, but not the drink itself. The other wasn't as lucky. He took the full brunt of the bottle straight in his stomach, and doubled over in pain, falling to the floor. He was out before he hit the ground from the pain.

Alex didn't even waste a second at the shock of it. As soon as the bottle had hit the man, he flung himself from the van, and dived straight into the second soldier, driving him down onto the ground. He kneed the man in the groin, before striking an uppercut to the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

James had been in shock at what Alex had done to the first man, but when Alex moved to tackle the other, he, too moved out from the van, avoiding the crumpled man at the base of the vehicle. He ran to the passenger side door, and yanked it open, finding the boys' bag on the floor where the passenger's feet would normally lay.

He met up with Alex at the back of the vehicle just as the other boy knocked out the second agent. He gave Alex a hand up, before Alex took charge of the situation.

"We need to move them into the back of the van. This'll wake up soon, and if he does, he'll notify their base that we've gotten away," he kicked at the one he'd knocked out with his fist. "The doors should automatically lock, I reckon, as soon as we close 'em. Should give us a couple of hours to get away before their bosses know something's up, and find the van."

After searching and ridding the two men of their phones, James helped Alex moved them, Alex grabbing them under the arms, James lifting the legs.

Once done, Alex slammed the door shut, grabbed the bag from James, and led them away from the road and into the first back alleyway he could find.

_Alleyways_, Alex thought, _are my new best friends._

**Shorter chapter, I know. I had an idea for where this one was going to go, but after writing their escape from the van, I realised that if I wrote that idea, the chapter would've gone to at least 6k words. Instead, I'm stopping it here, and will post the rest either next Saturday, or the following. It's getting busy as Christmas is approaching, and there's a lot besides that that I've got to do. Driving lessons, flying with my friends, shopping, revising for tests, etc etc.**

**Del Boy Trotter, with the motto He Who Dares, Wins, is a character taken from one of the best British comedy sketches ever created, **_**Only Fools And Horses**_**. If anyone has never seen that show before, I'd seriously suggest looking it up. The best episodes would have to be the Batman and Robin sketch, as well as the blow up dolls sketch, and, of course, the moment where he falls through the bar. I think these three can be watched on YouTube, if any of you want to see them. I would sincerely advise you to, if you want something very amusing to watch.**

**As for the DGSE's headquarters, I don't have a clue where they're based. Maybe Paris, maybe not. I ain't going looking for it on Google... the amount of dangerous things I've searched on there... well, lets just say that I'm pretty sure someone's watching what I search after all that.**

**Nitrous Oxide is actually laughing gas. Chloroform, what is used in films, doesn't actually knock you out. It'll give you breathing problems for life, but you'd still be conscious. Nitrous Oxide if given in high doses, can actually knock you out. Ether gas would have been better to use, only it would have been hard to administrate on the boys in the previous chapter. Some of you may not even know what Ether is, whereas the word "Nitrous" I'm pretty sure will automatically give you the image of things like Carbon Dioxide and stuff, which you know is dangerous. Hence why I used that over Ether.**

**Oh, and please don't go looking into buying any of that stuff. It's dangerous, and can have huge effects on the body.**


	16. The Great Escape, P2

**Sorry for the late update... just couldn't get this one right. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it; I'm guessing quite a few of you are going to learn some things in this chapter that you never knew of France before.**

**I try to get all facts right, although some street names may be different/ in different places to where they really are because, well, I'm using Google Maps as a reference, as opposed to me actually being there and all.**

**Disclaimer: AR is not mine. But the plot is. Steel it, and you're gunna face the wrath of a woman.**

Chapter 16

_After searching and ridding the two men of their phones, James helped Alex moved them into the back of the van, Alex grabbing them under the arms, James lifting the legs._

_Once done, Alex slammed the door shut, grabbed the bag from James, and led them away from the road and into the first back alleyway he could find._

_Alleyways__, Alex thought, are my new best friends. _

They ran down as many back streets as they could, occasionally being forced into running on main roads when alleys were blocked.

After half an hour of running as quickly as they could, they both started to tire; they were both tired, after having very little sleep and being chased all day long, but Alex knew they couldn't stop yet.

When another blocked alley forced them onto the streets, Alex ignored the next alleyway they could have entered, and instead looked for familiar road names. After living and visiting France many times with his uncle, he knew many of the names off by heart, and knew exactly where they would lead to. He'd managed to direct James towards the Eiffel Tower so that they were always heading in one direction, but also because he knew those streets better than those away from the Tower.

However, he made sure that they skirted around the Tower, due to the fact that police and security guards were constantly patrolling the area, making sure that no one was there when they weren't supposed to be. Being such a high attraction to the public and to tourists, it was always better to be careful and monitor everyone than let a few people mess on, especially at night after closing hours.

The other reason he skirted around the Eiffel Tower was because to the north, there was a river. If he were to cross it without anyone seeing him and James, or without any cameras picking the boys up, they'd be safe. For all he knew, the bridge connecting the two sides of the river was being monitored to make sure they didn't escape. When the DGSE finally got wind of their escape, they would doubtlessly search the part of the country they were on for many hours first before searching the other side, believing that they hadn't gotten across if they hadn't seen them on the bridge. It might give them the chance to sleep for a couple of hours before they had to move again, so long as things went to plan.

Alex recognised the road sign "Avenue Elisée Reclus" and nudged James to go down it, now on familiar terms with the roads. He had to keep James close to him, as the street lights were blocked by a canopy of trees that lined the roads, making it hard to see very far ahead and he didn't want to lose his friend.

He grabbed onto James, signalling that he wanted them to walk, and started to heavily walk down the street, listening out for any noise to indicate a difference in properties of the ground underneath him as he stomped his feet.

After a hundred metres, he was about to grab James again and turn them around before he heard what he'd been listening in for: rather than the steady rhythm of trainer meeting stone, trainer instead met metal and made a hollow thumping sound.

_Bingo_

Stopping, he whispered James' name to grab the boys attention, and they crowded around the circular drain. Alex took his watch off, and gave it to James.

"Keep pressing this button," Alex whispered to the boy, pointing at the top left button on the watch that read 'light'. "And hold it over the drain so I can see, all right?"

James nodded, and they both crouched down. James was incredibly curious as to what Alex wanted with the lid of the drain, but when he guessed that Alex wanted them to go underground, he shivered in disgust.

"You don't expect us to go down there, do you?" He questioned.

"Do you have any better plans? We need to get out of here, and now, and we can't risk anyone seeing us!" Alex snapped at him. He didn't mean to take it out on James, but he was tired, hungry, angry at the situation, and just wanted to be free, with no one chasing after him.

"But... it's a drain! Haven't you ever seen those shows were they look at them 'n' that? They're filthy and full of rats with diseases!" James retorted, horrified.

"Just trust me, James. If we want to get out of here, we've got to go underground – it's the only way," Alex said, and changed the topic. "Give me the bag," he instructed.

James took it off his back and dropped it into Alex's waiting hands. He watched as his friend rummaged through it, before finding the zit cream. There wasn't much left, but all he needed was a little bit placed inside the lock to break it, making the metal hiss and give off steam. Thankfully, the noise it made was very quiet, and didn't attract the attention of those in the houses behind him.

The zit cream burned through the metal, and after allowing for a brief cool down, Alex put his fingers inside of the now broken lock and pulled. He didn't get it far off the ground because he had a poor grip on it, and the thing was heavy, but James took initiative and put his own fingers beneath the gap Alex had managed to get and lifted it. Alex moved his fingers to the rim of the drain, momentarily leaving James to lift it by himself, before he helped roll it to the side a little, slowly and carefully letting it drop to the ground.

"You'll have to go first," Alex said to James.

"What! Why?" James almost squeaked, terrified of what might be down there, despite Alex's reassurances that he'd be fine and it was the only way to escape.

"Because I'm gunna have to move the lid back over here," he said. "Now put your feet over the hole, and look for the metal rungs. When you find them, climb down and don't stop until you feel solid ground, alright?"

"Yeah, got it," James mumbled, and followed Alex's directions.

As soon as his head had disappeared, Alex began to push the drain's lid enough so that it was part-way over the drain, before swinging down the rungs a bit himself and pulling the final bit over. It rang out slightly as the lid slid into place, and Alex paused though knew there was no backing out of it now.

"Hey!" came a shout below him; James. "There's light down here!" The boy said, shocked.

Alex smiled; of course there was light. Anyone who'd stayed home ill knows there's nothing on the television but chat shows. He didn't find Jeremy Kyle very amusing to watch – if people had the slightest of problems, they'd be on there screaming and shouting and raving, before being asked by the host why the male hadn't "put something on the end of it". He said it in pretty much every show.

Alex had plenty of worse problems, but he didn't advertise them on national television. So instead, he'd watched QI on Dave, and learnt an interesting fact. France had sewer systems that matched the streets above it. They even had regular tours, apparently, which was why the lights were on, and you could even get from the Eiffel Tower to the Louvre without seeing anybody if you went underground. These tours would mean that the sewers would be clean, so it was perfect for the boys to hide out in for a while before they were forced above ground. So long as they didn't actually run into any tours, of course.

Because he knew how the streets where linked above ground, and below, it was easy to know where to head to. However, even if he'd only known the street names, the sewer system had the road names on the walls, too.

So, in essence, he could go anywhere in Paris underground, and not see anybody. They could vanish on the Avenue they were on, and end up at a café on Boulevard Saint-Germaine over an hours walk away without anyone noticing. If that's where Alex wanted to head, anyway.

"Of course it is, James." Alex replied as they both got to the bottom of the sewer, refering to the boys surprise at the light. "I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"So you did," James said, still surprised. He looked around before asking the question Alex had been waiting for. "Where are we going now?"

"North, down there," he pointed to a tunnel that was partly shadowed – the next light was fairly fair away, although the light was still bright enough to illuminate the tunnel.

He started walking in that direction, and James followed along next to him.

For half an hour James followed Alex, and soon came to the part where they would be walking under a river. Alex didn't divulge this information to James as he didn't want to scare the boy anymore than he was already.

When James questioned him on the noise the water made as it flowed overhead, Alex simply said it was a busy main road, and that it was just traffic, nothing to worry about.

James didn't think of the late hour, and how most people would be in bed, trusting Alex. After Alex figured they were just about below the Louvre, he stopped in a darker part of the the sewer and sat down, motioning to James to follow suit.

When he did, he told his friend, "we'll sleep here for now, alright?" At James' tired nod, he continued, "but we need to move in a couple of hours, but I'll make sure we get some more stops in before we move back to ground level." He quieted, getting himself ready to sleep – laying on his side as opposed to sitting, bringing his knees to his chest for warmth. He remembered at the last moment to set an alarm on his watch for a couple of hours time so he'd wake up.

He was just drifting off when James spoke, his words slurred slightly, "what 'bout if I need the toilet?" he queried.

It brought Alex out of his stupor.

"Um, just go back from where we came from. In the water, not on the side, either." He said.

James made a muffled 'mm' sound, and before long both boys were asleep.

…

They managed to get their two hours worth of sleep undisturbed, and Alex had quite a time in trying to get James to wake up properly. The boy just loved his sleep, Alex mused. In the end, he'd threatened to throw the boy in the sewer itself if he didn't get up, and whilst it didn't get the boy to fully wake up, it sure got him standing and muttering 'I'm awake, I'm awake, okay?' repeatedly.

They moved off shortly after, and Alex silently wished he'd had the forethought to buy more food and drink before hand – the rushing sewage water rushing by made his throat sore just thinking about it, and that just brought on the thought of food, making his stomach ache in complaint of not being fed.

Three hours after waking up, Alex surmised that they had walked over five miles, and could no longer recognise the street names.

Deciding that they were fairly safe if they were to go above ground as his watch told him that it was a little after four in the morning, he found the next rungs and told James they were to leave the safety of the sewers to look for food.

When Alex was eight, the street in London that he lived on – used to live on, now, he supposed – had had to go under major repairs when a burst pipe underground had burst. His street had smelled for weeks afterwards, but Alex remembered that it stunk worse when the sewage workers had opened the drain. They ended up having to shut the lid after they had stepped down it, and the thing had automatically locked closed as a safety precaution in case the workers accidentally left it open. The two workers were the only ones working on the drain, and Alex had worried that they wouldn't be able to get themselves out of there until an hour or so later when they pushed the lid open and stepped out of the hole in the ground. When Alex had remarked this at the kitchen table later that evening, his uncle had told him that all sewers can be unlocked from underneath by a simple switch in case such things happened – that a worker got trapped underneath the city by mistake. It meant they could easily let themselves out, and the council and employers not be sued by families of the man who was trapped underground.

Alex found, to his relief, that this system was put into practice in France, too, as he switched the lock mechanism that allowed him to push the lid up.

The street was dark, and it took him a moment after he left the sewers for his eyes to adjust in the lack of light. James stepped out after him, and after ripping part of his strap off the bag and placing it on the side of the drain, they both moved the lid of the drain back to seal it shut. The strap of the bag would mean it wouldn't shut all the way, though, and it would be allow them to be able to get back down there without having to break another lock.

"So where are we going now?" James asked Alex.

"Twenty-four hour petrol station," Alex replied. It was a risk – no doubt there'd be cameras in the petrol station, but they were more likely to find one of those open at four in the morning than a store. Maybe if they found a McDonald's, but they wouldn't have as much products than a petrol station would.

They found one quickly enough, the green and white fifteen metre tall advertising stand beckoning them towards it from many streets away.

Slipping inside the doors, they got no more than a cursory look from the server behind the till before he looked back down at whatever magazine he was reading.

"Split up – get enough food for a couple of days, and make sure it won't go off for at least a week, too. Oh, and try to get something with quite a bit of sugar in it, too." Alex said to James, before moving away from him towards a sandwich stand close to the doors.

He'd just started to look at what the petrol station offered when a car pulled into the petrol station. Alex gave a quick look through the window, seeing a beat up old Vauxhall car, and decided that it wasn't any trouble for him – no way would any agent from any country drive such an old car like this thing. Most probably just a civilian on a late night journey home after a long day at work.

He turned back to the selection of sandwiches, picking up a cheese and tomato one as the doors opened, the civilian stepping into the store. Straightening up, he was about to move forward to look at the crisps when the barrel of a gun was placed at the back of his neck, and a shout rang out just behind him.

"Donnez-moi l'argent dans la caisse, ou le garçon meurt!"

**I wasn't originally going to put this gun scene in here, but I realised that if I didn't, then all the next chapter would be was Alex and James going back into the sewers... and after that, just escaping. I doubt you're all reading this to just see Alex get away with no trouble at all, now are you?**

**Now, back to the man with the gun – is he just a civilian? Is he an undercover French agent who miraculously spotted Alex and thought this is his chance to show the bosses how good he is? Or is it someone else... well, you'll just have to see.**

**Okay, so, some things to clear up: QI is a British question show starring Stephen Fry, who asks a load of questions that you think you know the answer too, but are actually wrong, and can be on any subject. (For instance, the freezing point of water isn't actually 0 degrees, but below that, etc) Of course, the panel who answer the questions are all famous comedians, so it's not just a question and answer show, but more a funny fact show. I'd suggest you watch some clips on YouTube, because the show really is very funny.**

**The sewer system really DOES match the roads above it in Paris.**

"**donnez-moi l'argent dans la caisse, ou le garçon meurt!****" means 'give me the money in the till, or the boy dies!' in French... or at least according to Google Translate it does. My apologies to anyone who speaks French if I'm damaging the language. I've never learnt any more than J'doire (sp?) and that much loved yet dirty song "****Voulez-vous vous chez avec moi"**

**Hmm... and that's about it. See you next chapter!**

**Oh, and review, please ;)**


	17. Darkness

**So yeah, you can easily see how much I don't speak the French language, as I couldn't even get that dirty song spelt right :P I did Spanish for five years, so I suck at French.**

**I know this also has nothing to do with Alex Rider whatsoever, but I know people regularly rec out other FF's, but this week I thought I'd rec out a film I recently watched called "Four Lions" - one of the best films I've ever seen in my life. Funny yet hard-hitting stuff. It didn't appeal to me when I first heard about it, but I'm just so glad that I got bored and decided to watch it. Seriously. It's about four wannabe terrorists living in London, England, and their journey to become suicide bombers... like I said, though, funny stuff, besides all of the blowing up and stuff... just watch a trailer, see if you find it funny, then perhaps watch it if you want to.**

-8-

_He turned back to the selection of sandwiches, picking up a cheese and tomato one as the doors opened, the civilian stepping into the store. Straightening up, he was about to move forward to look at the crisps when the barrel of a gun was placed at the back of his neck, and a shout rang out just behind him._

"_Donnez-moi l'argent dans la caisse, ou le garçon meurt!__" (give me the money in the till, or the boy dies!)_

-8-

Chapter 17

_Alex Rider_

Alex's first thought when he'd felt the gun pressed against his neck was to find a way to get out of the way of the gun – by moving away before striking the man's wrist to disable it, and which would inevitably end with the gun on the floor, and Alex's foot in the man's groin. But then, being as rationable as he was, he stopped his body from moving, and instead froze. As the man shouted further at the employee, and the employee shook as he slowly opened the till, he thought about where it would lead if he were to do... _nothing_.

The word, he admitted, wasn't in his mental dictionary, but perhaps it was out-dated as so many dictionaries are – and this word was about to make the new, updated edition.

This situation could go in many ways – either he, James and the employee could be shot and killed, the gunman could leave them all alive when he got the money he wanted, the police could turn up, and Alex be taken hostage, Alex could just be taken hostage anyway, or the gunman could shoot Alex as a message to the other two to show he meant business. He didn't particularly like any of the options, although two he hoped for.

The first, of course, was for the gunman to leave them all alive. Probable outcome, unless any of them did anything to upset him.

The second option he, crazily, hoped for was for the gunman to take him away. He would be sad to have to say his goodbyes to James, but if the gunman took him away before the police arrived, then he could be out of the city far quicker than if he were to walk in the sewers. Unless the gunman then killed him afterwards.

He saw James out of the corner of his eye, standing amongst shelves of crisps and chocolate bars, his mouth agape with what he was seeing. Alex ignored him for the moment, knowing he was safe for the meantime. When he looked forwards again, he noticed that the employee was putting money into a green shopping bag with the petrol station's name printed across the front. There were many notes, more so than he assumed there would be.

The gun pressed against his spine was pushed even further into him, knocking Alex forward a step. If he was going to act, then that would have been the perfect time for him to turn and fight his aggressor, but he didn't. The thought of being taken away appealed to him – he was sure he could fight the man off before he was killed; if he was, of course, taken away.

And, a slightly darker thought appealed in his mind – if the gunman gets the cash, Alex could take it from him when he gets away from him. It'd be a nice amount of money, too, if what he was seeing being took out of the till was anything to go by. The amount of money James had been given by his father was dwindling down. They needed more – he needed more.

The gunman pressed forwards again with the gun, and again Alex stepped forward, closer to the employee. It was easy to tell what the gunman was trying to do – push Alex and himself closer to the tills to collect the money. When they were almost two metres away, he stopped forcing the gun into Alex's head, before yelling, "Dépêchez-vous, ou je tire les enfants la tête! Maintenant!"

Ah, threatening to shoot him if the employee didn't hurry up. Classic, threatening someone. But Alex noticed the slight shaking of the man's voice as he said it, noticed that the gun was moving from side to side as it's holder became more and more nervous, more and more unsure of what he was doing.

And Alex, perhaps foolishly, decided to provoke him – this man would leave them all behind, rookie that he was. Quite obviously he wasn't a professional, and perhaps didn't count on having any other hostages besides the employee. He'd do a smash-and-grab technique, nothing more. But Alex _needed_ to be taken away.

"You won't get away with it, you know," he whispered to the man, quiet enough so that only he'd hear it.

"Quoi?" The man asked.

"I _said,_ vous n'aurez pas sortir avec elle, vous savez. You've already made the mistake of waiting too long, and I wouldn't be surprised if _de police_ were around the corner," he said, almost sarcastically.

"Shut up, kid," the man said in English, his tone heavy with his native accent. "Just shut up, and I might let you live."

"You won't shoot me. Don't have the guts. You'll most probably put your hands up straight away when the police get here. Won't even try to escape. Weak and pathetic, they'll call you." Alex goaded.

"Shut up!" The man yelled again, this time whacking Alex over the head with the gun. It stung, a sharp pain quickly radiating from the impact zone, but there hadn't been all that much power to the hit and he stayed on his feet, conscious.

The employee finally managed to get all of the money into the bag, and the gunman started to shout at him, instead, this time in French, "Jetez plus, maintenant." The employee did as he said, throwing the bag towards Alex. He grabbed it out of the air, before asking the gunman what he wanted him to do with it.

"Take it out to the car, yes? Walk slowly, and you make any... wrong movements, and I will shoot you. Understand?" The man stuttered slightly in his speech, not used to having to speak English, never mind switching from one language to another.

He directed Alex out of the store, still at gunpoint, and to the passenger side of his dirty black Vauxhall. Unlocking the car and opening the door, he shoved Alex inside before slamming the door shut. As the gunman walked to his own side of the car, he kept the gun facing Alex, so that if he changed his mind and tried to escape, there would be no chance for him to do so.

The gunman must have realised as he was moving around the car that, once inside, he wouldn't be able to drive the car _and_ keep the gun poised on Alex. Unfortunately for the boy, as soon as the gunman stepped inside, he didn't even get the chance to defend himself before the gun was swung in his direction, and the butt of it slapped straight into the side of his face. Although the cramped space in the car meant there was little power to the swing of the man's arm, it still hurt.

And Alex, after a moment of confusion, slowly felt his head slip forward onto his chest, and darkness descended.

-8-

**Okay, so I have a plan. For the first time, I think, ever, for this story. Woo!**

**And yeah, I know it's short. But it's been a while since I posted something, and this was all I had. So enjoy, I guess.**

**Gotta admit that I didn't actually intend to make Alex slightly darker in his thoughts. It just came outta nowhere whatsoever. I swear.**

Anyway, review please :D


	18. Death

**So sorry for the lateness in updating. Although I've got a rough idea of where I'm going with this story, it's kinda hard to actually write it. Anyone who's wrote anything I'm guessing may understand my problem.**

**I'd also like to say that Jack's death came out of no where for this story. I'd intended to write something as an outtake... but it just sort of happened.**

Some notes for this chapter: Alex's school is based off what my school is like. We have "academic tutoring" although it's just the year 7-11 classes that have to come in on the evenings – us Post 16 students get the day off instead and only come in to talk to our tutors for about 15mins. Woo.

→ MFL stands for Modern Foreign Languages. So any "foreign" languages take place in that building – Spanish and French. We don't do German. Sorry.

→ In the UK, at the end of year 9, you get "choices" and you get to pick up three classes and drop a load of others. Maths, English, Science, Tech (although being in top set, I was put into Electronics in year 10), P.E and Citizenship are compulsory choices. In other schools, they may not do Citizenship, and instead are forced to take R.E/R.S (Religious Ed/Religious Studies) or maybe you're taught both.

→ Some of you may be counting that, and realising that that's only nine subjects, not the eleven I mentioned in here, and that's because for me, in year 10 and 11, I had three separate science teachers – one for Bio, one for Chem, and one for physics. Alex has to visit with all of them.

→ I don't know if elsewhere they say it, but in my school, even if a teacher is called "Mrs so-and-so" we still just call her "Miss" to her face – we're not being disrespectful, but it's just easier and quicker. I've never been told off for it, and I don't know anyone who has.

→ At academic tutoring, you're rated out of five for three separate things – classroom behaviour/attitude, homework standard and attitude towards work. You're also given a grade (year 7-9 often in numbers, so, for example, the highest being a 7a, the lowest being a 3c – which is Primary school standard. You reach this grade, and you'll be taken out of some classes and given more help in the big three – Sci, Eng and Maths. Years 10-13 in letters only – A* being the highest, U being the lowest. D grade and below is a fail.)

→ Better Off Ted is a US tv show that has unfortunately been cancelled. However, although I'm often quite to say that most US "comedy" shows are quite crap, this one I just howled at all the way through. Bravo to whoever created it. I sincerely urge you to check it out if you can in some way. If not, just check out some clips on YouTube, especially any to do with Veronica. My God is that character the best ever created.

Fav quote, "The new sensors don't detect black people because light doesn't reflect off them?"

"Yes Ted."

"But that's racist."

"The company's position is that it's actually the opposite of racist. It's not targeting black people, it's just ignoring them. They insist the worst people could call it is indifferent." Lmao.

The clip of it is here: www . youtube . Com/ watch?v=CJ1TaYwU394

**Hope this info helps with what's in the story.**

Anyway, on with the story.

Chapter 18

_-8-_

_Unfortunately for the boy, as soon as the gunman stepped inside, he didn't even get the chance to defend himself before the gun was swung in his direction, and the butt of it slapped straight into the side of his face. Although the cramped space in the car meant there was little power to the swing of __the man's arm, it still hurt._

_And Alex, after a moment of confusion, slowly felt his head slip forward onto his chest, and darkness descended._

_-8-_

The next time he awoke, he was in a dark, damp and cramped space, unable to see his hand in front of his face. It was obvious to him instantly that he was underground somewhere, as what he could feel from where he lay was all concrete.

Of course, he couldn't feel much – his left hand was chained up to the wall, and it only really allowed him to move no more than a shuffle in any direction. He didn't even know where the door was – for all he knew, it could be above him as opposed to built in on a wall.

He was slow to come around, his eye and nose and cheek all burning with pain from where he'd been hit. Probing his face with his fingers, he reassured himself that nothing was broken; his nose was still there, thankfully, and his cheek, although hurting, wasn't too painful when he poked it and moved it.

He knew he could escape – he had all the items needed to do so, but as he didn't know anything about his surroundings, both within the underground cavern and the above areas, not to mention the person – or even people – who had taken him, he didn't dare leave until he had more information. After all, for all he knew there was fifty people above him that could easily take him out.

So no, for now, he was fine with staying where he was.

In the mean time, he didn't have much he could do, and so his mind drifted to places he didn't want to think about; Jack's death.

_We'd had a new English teacher for the last month, and when year ten academic tutoring came around at Brookland, it meant that teachers who taught any classes to year tens were asking for what time their students wanted to meet with them on the evening of the 18__th__ of May. Jack had always wanted to be there first, and to be out as soon as possible, so I always tried to ask for the earliest times of five o'clock. In year ten, it meant that I'd dropped many subjects that I'd been studying from years seven to nine, and as a result, Jack and I could be at the school for less than an hour if I played my cards right. Each "appointment" with the teacher lasted roughly for five minutes a piece, sometimes more, sometimes less, and on the table I'd been given with the three columns of "Subject", "Teacher" and "Time," for my other ten teachers I'd managed to get times to fit in before six._

_For English, though, my teacher, Mrs. James, had three separate year ten classes, and on Tuesdays, the day I was given my tabled sheet of paper, I had the subject last. This was problematic for two reasons: one, English was situated in the farthest building away from the MFL building as possible – of which I'd just had a Spanish lesson within, and two, this resulted in me being five minutes late to my lesson._

_Mrs James was roughly 45 years old, and although quite stern, was very understanding in why her students were often late. Although if they didn't arrive for more than seven minutes after the bell went, then she would mark them late in the register – no matter what the excuse. I was one of the last to enter the classroom, and already Mrs James had dealt out many times to the students in this class. She only had the later times left – her earliest being at 7.25pm. Five minutes before it was scheduled to end. I moaned aloud when she told me that after I'd enquired as to when her earliest time was, and told her that I would take that time slot. I was sure that somebody would turn up late for an appointment with her, and I could just sneak in with Jack and say we had no one else to see._

_She'd understand, I was sure._

_When she in turn asked me my who would be accompanying me, I'd instantly answered "Jack." All of the teachers who'd been at the school since I was eleven knew that she was the one who came – knew that I didn't have parents, and my uncle Ian was barely, if ever, at home._

"_Mr. Jack Rider, got it." She'd replied. I'd hastily corrected her._

"_Um, no. Jack Starbright, Miss."_

"_Oh," I'd surprised her. "And what relation is she to you?"_

"_She looks after me." I'd stated._

"_Hmm, I see. And what about your parents?"_

"_They died when I was small. Jack's looked after me since I was seven. She always comes to the appointments."_

"_Right, well. I'm looking forward to meeting Miss Starbright."_

_I didn't think much of it – she was new, and didn't understand my background._

_The following Thursday was the day of academic tutoring, and Jack and I were bored. Each teacher had commented on mostly the same things, "When he's in, he works to as high a standard as possible. Of course, he's behind in a few areas, as I'm sure you'd understand, Miss Starbright. Let's hope Alex's current good bill of health stays that way, shall we, hmm?" and "Ah yes, Alex. Behind right now, and he's still got a few homework and coursework assignments to hand in, the deadlines are catching us up, Alex. We need those in now! Otherwise, I'd rate your classroom behaviour as a five – very good. Coursework and homework at a 3, I'm afraid. Get the rest in, and I'll be sure to bump it up."_

_I was working as hard as I could, damn it! It took over three hours just to write up a good piece of coursework, and it was hard to work on them every single spare hour of the day. I wanted to shout at them, tell them that. I wanted to shout at MI6 for forcing me into going away and dragging me into the spying world. But it wouldn't do much. Nothing could erase the past._

_Jack and I had seen all of my teachers barring one – Mrs James._

_We'd tried to sneak into a different time slot with her, but she constantly had different students hovering around her allotted desk._

_At 7.30, a full one hour and 45 minutes since our last appointment, we were finally seated in front of my teacher. Finally._

_Jack wasn't happy. She'd missed Emmerdale, was going to miss Coronation Street, and there was also a slight chance of missing _Better Off Ted_. I tried to assure her that she could watch the episodes online, but she wouldn't have it. To her, it was better to watch it on a 36" screen in real time than on a 16" one. Not to mention all of the buffering and the sometimes fuzzy imagery when put into full screen mode._

"_Hello Alex," Mrs James smiled when I sat down in the chair opposite her. "And this must be Jack Starbright?"_

"_Nice to meet you, Mrs James." Jack had replied. "Now then, how's Alex been progressing in your class?" She asked._

"_Well, from what I've seen of Alex for the past month, he's dedicated to his studies, and works hard in lessons." She praised. "However, as I'm sure you're aware, thanks to Alex's illnesses, it has put him behind slightly in terms of coursework and many linguistic terminology that he'll need to know for his exams, especially in English Language."_

"_Why so in that lesson?" Jack frowned, worried that I was further behind than she'd thought._

"_His GCSE exam for that is in July. In Literature and Media he has until next year to pull his terminology, theory and structuralism into a more acceptable form, and indeed improve on them, but this is his final year for English Language I'm afraid. I need the coursework in by the end of this month, too. 31__st__ of May is the deadline, remember Alex?" She addressed me, looking into my eyes._

"_Yes Miss James." I'd nodded._

"_We have after school sessions running for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You just need to turn up, and I – or one of the other English staff – will help you with whatever help you need. I'd like to encourage that you do so." She looked at her watch, noticing that it had been over five minutes since our appointment had started._

"_Well, I'm sure you'd like to be off – I know I certainly would like to be!" She laughed._

_Jack and I stood up, my guardian reaching out to shake her hand. I looked around us, noticing that there was only a few people left in the hall. Twenty-four people. Many teachers had left, their appointments over with, and the few that remained were either gathering their things up or still talking to students._

_I turned to look at Jack and my teacher, just as this finished shaking hands. I turned around to step away from my chair, just as Jack did the same. We collided, bumping into each other._

_And that's when I heard it – the sounds unforgettable for however long I lived. First there was the catch of the safety being removed. Then was the pull of the trigger. The third sound was the release of the bullet from the gun, the noise echoing in the domed room. And finally, there was a scream._

_A woman's scream._

_An American's scream._

_Jack's scream._

_Jack had stepped into my way when we'd bumped, and I'd fallen forwards into my chair as she fell slightly across my back._

_Mrs James pulled the trigger right at that moment, when Jack was in between me and my teacher._

_Me and my sniper._

_Me and the woman who was supposed to kill me._

_Jack fell._

_I dived._

_I hit._

_I collided._

_I kicked._

_I knocked out._

_I took._

_And finally, I felt. For a pulse, for a sign of life. For anything. Anything to prove to me that Jack, lovable Jack, was still savable._

_She was. Just. Her pulse was slow, but to me, I'd take it. Take anything._

_I pressed into her wound, her stomach, the area that had been hit. Kept in as much blood as I could._

_I ignored everything else around me, whispering to Jack, begging her to stay with me. I cried. I never had before, not for anything. Not during uncle Ian's funeral. But for Jack, my Jack. My almost sister, my friend, the person who had stuck with me through thick and thin, I cried for._

_I couldn't lose her. I couldn't._

_Someone tried to drag me away from her. I hit, again. Lashed out, my emotions so raw. The pain in my chest – the bullet wound nothing compared to this. Jack was still, immobile. Barely breathing._

_They tried to pull me away again, and again I resisted. Four arms this time. Two people. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack._

_The arms, they pinned me down onto the carpeted floor. I kicked again. Screamed, again._

_Paramedics were with her, their green and yellow jackets easy to recognise. They pushed on her chest. Up and down, up and down. Breathed into her mouth. A pulse, another one. A breath. They placed her on a stretcher._

_My holders let me free, and I rushed to her. Held her hand. No other thoughts but her._

_I didn't even notice we were in the back of the ambulance so suddenly. Didn't notice when we were rushing through corridors. Didn't notice the smell of antiseptic, a smell I'd know anywhere._

_I did notice, though, when I was held back, again. Pushed away as she was sent into the OR, and I in turn to a waiting room._

_I didn't notice anyone in the room, nor the television – if there was one._

_All I could think of was Jack. The blood surrounding her chest. The blood soaking through her many clothes, despite the hot weather lately. The blood finally finding its way to that carpeted floor in the domed hall with those twenty-four witnesses and that fake teacher – for she must have been fake. Why would a teacher, after all, want to shoot Jack._

_For a fleeting moment, I felt something else but despair – anger. But just for a moment, before the more dominant feeling rushed back into my system._

_I didn't know how long I sat in that awful, dreaded room before a doctor came in to see me – but it must have been hours._

_He sat next to me on the floor – a young man._

"_Hello son, I'm Dr Sineed. What's your name?" He asked._

"_Alex." Right, Alex. We've worked on your..." he left the sentence open for Alex to answer._

"_Guardian."_

"_Right, we've worked on your guardian. The bullet went straight into the lower part of her stomach. Do you understand what that means, Alex?" He said softly. Spoke in plain English – for once._

"_That she'll live?"_

"_I can't make any promises right now, son. I'd like to, but I can't. We operated on her stomach to remove the bullet, and had to remove a part of her organ, which should be fine, but there was a lot of internal bleeding. We've sent her up to radiology for a scan to see how things are looking inside of her. Hopefully, nothing else was damaged – we didn't see anything, but the scans will confirm it."_

"_When can I see her?" I asked._

"_Not for a while yet, I'm afraid. There was a waiting list for radiology, and she won't be back down on the ICU ward for at least another hour. And even then the nurses need to settle her in."_

_Anger coursed through me again at the thought that something inside Jack could be killing her, and she'd have to wait over an hour to be scanned before the doctors would be able to treat it. An hour, and she could be dead._

_But I didn't have the strength to do anything about the anger – defeated. Resigned. Those weighed me down too heavily to feel anything else._

_The doctor was hesitating, I could sense._

"_What else?" I prompted._

_The doctor sighed._

"_Have you got any relatives we can call, Alex?"_

"_No. There's just me and Jack now."_

_The doctor sighed again. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call social services, Alex."_

"_What, why?" I cried, my anger finally being released._

"_Because you're still a child, and with no one to look after you. They'll more than likely ask a friend of yours if you can stay at their house until Jack... well, I'll be blunt with you - until she either becomes well enough to go home and look after you, or the alternative." The doctor shook his head sadly._

"_I'm staying here, with Jack." I responded._

"_I'm afraid that isn't an option, Alex."_

"_Well, make it an option!" I exploded. "Jack's all I've got left. If she, if she... if she-" I sobbed. Still crying. I couldn't say it – say those words. "I want to be there. Until she- I can't be away from her."_

"_I'm sorry, Alex, I really am."_

_He stood up, looked at me, with my head bent down on my knees, my jeans dark where my tears had landed, staining them, and left the room._

_I forgot about his words almost instantly – Jack's face had taken up residence in my mind again, and she took up all thoughts._

_I thought back to what I shouldn't have missed. Mrs James in the English classroom. I'd referred to Jack only as "Jack". I'd never said Jack was a woman, and yet Mrs James had said "And what relation is she to you?" 'She' I missed it. How could I have missed it? All my fault. My fault. Should have known. Too relaxed after having no trouble with MI6 or Scorpia. Relaxed my guard. My fault, all my fault._

_A woman was the next to visit. A woman with a large hand bag and a leather case at her side. A woman from social services. Many hours had passed since the time the doctor had left and she arrived. Light had crept into the room from the window behind me. A new day – hopefully, with the sun shining as it was, it was a good omen. For once in my life, a good omen. Please. Please._

_Please._

_She spoke, and I responded._

_I gave her my details – name, address, age, no family. Jack's information. What little I knew. Friends – Tom. Tom's details. Shouted at her. Told her I wasn't leaving. Tom came. His mother came. Told the social worker what she wanted to know in a monotone voice. I couldn't muster up any energy to even try to hide details. She asked, I gave. Autopilot, that's what they called it in books. Being on autopilot._

_Tears. Lots and lots of tears. In Tom's eyes, in his mother's eyes, in my eyes. Not in Jack's eyes. Maybe never in Jack's eyes again._

_Jumbled thoughts. Always about Jack, though. Always. Chest hurt, again. Always hurting. Wouldn't stop until Jack was safe._

_Doctor came in again – forgotten his name. Not important._

_Told I could visit with Jack. Important._

_He helped me to stand. Walked me to her room in the ICU._

_She was all wired up – wires everywhere. Up her nose, in her mouth, on her wrists, under her gown. There'd be more, he knew. Monitoring everything about her. Good. Know everything that happens with her._

_I sat in one of the chairs after dragging it to her bedside. Laid my head down on top of the bed after grabbing one of her hands in my own. Colder than normal, but warm. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead notdead . Alive._

_Scans came through. Doctors worried again. Something wrong. Something not right. I'm taken from the room again, and so is she. Dumped back into waiting room. Tom. Left Tom behind. Arms around shoulders._

_Jack hasn't come with me. She's gone elsewhere. They've taken her elsewhere._

_Hours pass, again. Waiting. Social worker comes again. Ignored. Mrs Harris answers many questions. Tom stays with me, I know._

_At just after five, the doctor comes back in again. Kneels in front of me. Takes my hands in his own._

"_I'm sorry, Alex. So sorry, but she didn't make it. One of the stitches came loose when we transported her, and the internal bleeding started again. Her blood started to clot, Alex. Too much of it. We tried to operate, but nothing could save her."_

_Stiffness. Everywhere._

_And at his words, at his apologies, everything comes back into focus. Jack. Gone._

_Nothing else keeping me here in England, but them. They'll send me someplace, use me. Have to get away. Only Jack could stop them before, and now she's gone._

_She wouldn't want me anywhere near them._

_Past tense._

_Wouldn't. Doesn't – not any more._

_I stand up, ignoring Tom, Mrs Harris and the social worker._

_Someone asks me where am I going._

"_Need some fresh air."_

_They let me go, but only after shared worried looks._

_Fresh air. Yes. I'll get that on the way home. On the way back to the house where we both used to live, and now where no one will live for a while._

A lock clanging brought me out of my memory. To the right of where Alex was, and higher above. He could hear footsteps coming down the stairs slowly – twelve times feet hit stairs before they hit concrete.

Light had poured in from the doorway above, and for a moment Alex was blinded. Just as his vision was starting to adjust to the new light, a torch was shoved into his face, and he raised his free hand to protect his eyes from the blinding light.

"Ah, so the boy is now awake?" His captor asked.

"Mmm," Alex said, realising only now that his throat was parched.

He coughed, and tried again. "Yes," he croaked out.

Something was thrown at him, and it landed in his lap.

"Drink up, child. It will be the last you are, ah, receiving for a while," something else was thrown at him. A bag of crisps. "Same with food." The man's was was heavily accented, a born and raised Frenchman, Alex had no doubts.

The man started to retreat up the stairs after Alex had taken a gulp of water.

"Wait!" he shouted. "What do you want me for?"

"Don't worry kid. We won't kill you – yet. That is all you need to know." He carried on up the stairs, and Alex sipped his drink again. He wasn't going to waste it. The crisps, though, he ripped open, and within a few minutes, were gone.

When the door had opened, Alex had listened for other voices. He'd heard some – perhaps two or three, although for all he knew they were on the television, and not in the rooms beyond.

Alex debated within himself as to whether or not he should try to escape, and decided against it – MI6 and the SAS weren't going to get him here, he thought. And for now he had water, and had just been fed. If he wasn't fed again within the next twenty-four hours, then he'd leave.

Resigned – he hated that word – he waited. After a few hours thinking back and worrying about James, but knowing that he was safe somewhere, his eyes drooped, and he slept.

-8-

**Yeah, so, like I said, I never actually meant to dive into what led him to escape... only it sort of happened.**

**I also have never been given "bad news" from doctors, so I have no idea how they'd tell someone the problems with their patients and/or how they tell someone their family member has died.**

**I also don't know any medical jargon, so I left it out as much as I could... my bad.**

**Furthermore, please note my sincere apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. It's just turned 2am herein the UK, and I cba looking back through it. All wrote within two hours. Yay!**

**Anyway, please review, and tell me what you think. I was kinda disappointed in SR with how Mr AH switched to a sort of outsider POV with Jack's death scene, so I didn't feel any of Alex's pain, and couldn't really believe that she was gone as Alex had.**

**Do you feel Alex's pain in this chapter... or should I just avoid death scenes in the future?**

**Well, let me know :)**


	19. Sleeping

**Someone reviewed saying "There's got to be more behind [the robber's plans]" Of course there is!**

**Hopefully this chapter explains it.**

**Well, more than explains it... executes it, in fact.**

Chapter 19.

_-8-_

_Resigned – he hated that word – he waited. After a few hours thinking back and worrying about James, but knowing that he was safe somewhere, his eyes drooped, and he slept._

_-8-_

Several hours later, Alex found himself in the same position as he'd slept in – the chain on his wrist didn't allow him to move much, and what movement he had managed to achieve in his sleep had caused him nothing but pain and discomfort. He could feel his skin chapping, and it wouldn't be long before it started to bleed.

He was awoken by the door above him clicking open, and light poured onto him once again.

Shielding his eyes against the glare of light, he kept his watch on the figure that stepped down each stair. As his captor reached the bottom, he strode towards Alex and again shoved the torch into his face. It stopped Alex from seeing anything of the man's face or other features, unfortunately, and he knew it was done on purpose. Should Alex manage to escape, there would be nothing much that he could tell the police – if, as his captors thought he would, he went to them.

"You know, kid, it is strange that no one's raised the alarm about you," his captor said. Alex deemed him to be called 'Captor' from now on. "Not one news article or policeman looking for you."

"What can I say? No one loves me." Alex smirked, trying to make it sound like he was trying to be funny. In actuality, he was wondering whether or not anyone would raise the alarm. Obviously, MI6 and the SAS were looking for him, but they would do it on the sly and keep it quiet. He suspected that James and his father might keep an ear to the ground for news of him... but was anyone else? Tom, his school teachers, Sabina?

"It does not matter to me. Just makes my job easier, no?"

Captor released some information about what would happen to Alex next, there. He wouldn't be killed, yet; they planned on using Alex for something.

"And what job would that be?"

"Now, kid," his jailer said. It seemed that that was all Alex would be known as, 'kid'. "I cannot tell you that. But you will see in time," he laughed, a tad bit manically. "Or rather, you _won't_ see."

Before Alex knew what happened, Captor dropped his torch, and before Alex's eyes could adjust, there was a pain in his neck. A needle jab, Alex recognised.

He started to struggle, and put his plan into action.

Lifting his hands to his hair, he searched for his plain hair clip. No longer than four centimetres, and a dull yellow colour, it was hard to spot in his hair unless someone was actively searching for it. After Jack's death, Alex had gone home and packed a quick bag of items he thought he'd need.

Planning ahead, he thought about what would happen if MI6 found him – no doubt they'd bind his hands together, and he hoped that they would do it with handcuffs. Going into Jack's room, he searched through her many hair products until he'd found some hair clips. Being a red head, she'd often picked out yellow ones from the stores to try to blend them in with her hair when she put it up.

It was perfect for Alex.

Yanking it out from his hair – not to mention pulling a few strands out in doing so – he quickly put it into his mouth before leaning down to slot it into the keyhole.

He could feel the effects of whatever drug was in his system taking effect already, although it was acting slower than other's he'd been drugged with before. Then, he'd been knocked out almost instantly.

Captor stood back, confident in knowing his prisoner wouldn't escape.

Alex thought differently. Twisting the hair clip this way and that, and applying even more pressure, he quickly managed to release the clasp of the handcuffs.

When Alex was eight, Jack gave him his first magic kit. By the time he was eight and three months old, he'd mastered most of the tricks in the book that had accompanied the set. By the time he'd turned turned eight and ten months, he'd become hooked on anything to do with Harry Houdini, the most famous escape artist that ever lived.

He'd tried to escape himself, once, from some pink and fluffy handcuffs he'd found in Jack's room during one of his monthly snoops. Unfortunately, he hadn't quite learnt how to escape, and he'd never found the key that would unlock the cuffs. So it was with some embarrassment that Uncle Ian had to come to his rescue after he'd whined "_Uncle IIIIannn!"_ from the next room, with a trembling lip. "_I'm stuck!"_ during one of the rare times he was home. Jack was out, having fun with some _friends_.

His uncle had saved him, with a smile on his face and amusement shining in his eyes.

He never saw the handcuffs again, and for a week Jack wouldn't look him in the eyes. When he turned twelve, and finally understood what the meaning of those _pink, fluffy handcuffs_ were for, he never snooped in her room again.

But if there was one thing Alex got out of it all, was his uncle teaching him the 'tricks of the trade,' as he'd put. At the time, Alex assumed this to mean the _magical_ trade, not the spying trade.

As a treat for mastering the skill of escaping, Alex was taken to see Steve "Mr. Escape" Baker (as it was labelled on the ticket) for Christmas.

He'd never forgotten any of it, and it was this skill that enabled him to escape out of the cuffs.

Sluggishly, he rubbed his wrists where the metal shackles had scratched at his skin, before standing up and rushing, albeit slowly, to his captor. The jailer was much quicker than Alex in his sorry state, though, and easily stepped to the side. Before Alex could turn, he grabbed the boy with one arm under his armpits and across his chest, and the other around his neck.

"Now, kid. No point in struggling. Nothing you can do about it. You'll just hurt yourself," Captor said in stunted sentences. Alex's muscles were slowly starting to relax, and he could feel his eyelids drooping with sudden tiredness. "There's some, ah, _soupe_ for you by the stairs for when you wake up. Night night, kid."

And with that, Alex's eyes closed for what seemed to him to be the fiftieth time in just a few short hours.

_-8-_

Time passed, and Alex slept. He woke by himself, nothing disturbing him. The drug in his system must have worn off, he realised. He had a headache, his throat was sore, but most of all, he was _free_.

Well, free from the shackles, at any rate. And to Alex, that was something.

Remembering that Captor had mentioned something about soup being close to the stairs, he crawled slowly to his left in a search for it. Unluckily for him, it was in a bowl, and as he put his hand down from moving forward, it splattered straight into it.

He rubbed his hand on the floor, before feeling around the bowl to get a good grip on it. It was surprisingly hard without any light to bring the bowl to his mouth, and twice he banged it against his chin before he finally managed to take a sip of the food.

It tasted weird, and not just because it was cold; this was no Heinz minestrone soup, but still, it was like nothing he'd ever had before.

Deciding that the phrase 'beggars can't be choosers' applied in this situation, he choked down the rest of it.

He wished he hadn't.

Crawling back to his original place near the shackles, he leant back against the wall, patting his stomach. For a few minutes, he almost felt sleepy – naturally sleepy, not a drugged sleep.

But then his lips started to numb, then his tongue, and then his gums. He panicked, which didn't help things at all. His heart rate spiked uncontrollably, and he could actually feel it.

When nothing more happened, and he started to calm a little, he realised that it wasn't panic that had induced butterflies in his stomach, but rather whatever the soup had contained. Within moments of the realisation, he started to vomit, over and over and over. When there was nothing else left for him throw up, he rested his head on the floor, uncaring that he was lying so close to his sick.

He was so _dizzy_. Things were swirling around in his mind, and when he mustered up enough strength to move away from his vomit, he found that he couldn't; there was no strength in his muscles at all. In fact, he didn't have a care in the world.

And it was with that thought, that he once again drifted off.

What he never heard during his vomiting was the door opening, and many sets of footsteps coming down the stairs before stopping near-by.

And after he'd fallen into unconsciousness, the owners of the footsteps finally stepped close to the boy.

One, and older man with a white beard and a receding hair line stepped forward and rolled Alex onto his back. Placing his bag on the floor, he quickly used a suction device to clear the boys airways from any puke, before grabbing a spot light and tubing from his bag. Motioning to Captor, he directed the man to holding Alex's jaw bones apart so he could work.

"Just make sure his mouth doesn't close," he said in French, their native language. "And for Christ's sake, don't block my light or knock me or we'll need a need child, understand?"

Captor didn't reply, but glared at the Doctor to get on with it.

Placing the spot light just below Alex's nostrils, he looked straight into the caverns before sliding the tubing inside. Watching carefully, he changed pressure from sliding to moving downwards and forwards. Happy that he'd managed to get the tubing far enough into his nostrils so it would poke down his throat, he looked inside the boy's mouth instead.

Now came the tricky bit – for him.

He didn't have much time left – soon the child's diaphragm would give up on him, and his lungs would not receive the oxygen it needed.

"I think you might have given the boy too much puffer poisoning, Gorgo," the Doctor said as he slid the tubing down the boys throat. This method of automatic respiratory allowed the machine the tubes were connected to to breathe for Alex, bringing oxygen to his lungs and bloodstream, and removing deadly toxins like carbon dioxide. Later, he'd apply another IV into the vein close to his wrist to give the boy the nutrients he'd need. But for now, breathing was what Alex needed to do.

"James put less in than the last boy got. This kid seems strong. He's sure he'll pull through," Captor stated.

They didn't speak further.

Finally, the doctor seemed satisfied with the placing of the tubing, and after he'd pressed around the boys midriff to follow the piping, declared, "nasal cannulae. Always the way to go." He smiled, pleased.

"Just make sure that he survives, Doc," Captor said, before marching up the stairs and leaving.

For now, Alex was safe. But if he didn't survive the next twenty-four hours, James wouldn't be pleased, and Captor would need to go and find another Chair for the job.

_-8-_

**So, it's shorter than the last chapter, and I also tried to add in a bit of humour to it to contrast with the mood in the previous chapter.**

**Whether it worked or not, I guess we'll see.**

**Any ideas on what's going to be happening next? I've got it planned out, but I'm keen to here what you think'll happen :)**

**So review, people!**


	20. Stage One

Chapter 20

**Recap: **_So, after escaping the country, and Alex meets up with James in France, Alex gets captured in a petrol station shop and knocked unconscious. When he wakes up, he's inside some sort of cell/basement area. There, Captor and Doc make their introductions, and in the last chapter, Alex's food has been poisoned with something – something that is deadly. Doc manages to keep him alive... for now._

_-8-_

"_Just make sure that he survives, Doc," Captor said, before marching up the stairs and leaving._

_For now, Alex was safe. But if he didn't survive the next twenty-four hours, James wouldn't be pleased, and Captor would need to go and find another Chair for the job._

_-8-_

Alex was mainly unconscious throughout the first forty-eight hours of being under the puffer poisoning.

James was glad that the boy pulled through the first twenty-four of those hours, as very few children, he'd found, rarely did. The kid would permanently be within a zombie state until they gave him an unprecedented antidote – and, like the poison, wasn't guaranteed to actually work. The Doc had come up with the antidote himself, and as there were so very few children who survived, there wasn't that many to test it on.

Alex would be the third, if he managed to pull through the following journey he would be going on.

After Doc assured him that Alex had an 80% chance of living through the rest of the week – albeit with many machines doing the work his body should be doing itself, and even more tubes putting the essential nutrients he needed, as well as tubes removing certain bodily fluids – James had the boy put into the hospital Doc worked for.

They'd made sure that it would seem like a natural poisoning – they'd pinpricked the boys right foot over and over and over, then dunked it in water taken from the ocean itself, all to ensure that it seemed like he'd been playing in the sea and had unfortunately stumbled and stood on the poisonous fish.

Of course, puffer fish weren't known to swim so close to land, not least anywhere near France, but with whales swimming up the Thames river in London, and other such natural unnaturalness happening all of the time over the world, it would just be deemed another wondrous, but possibly fatal, occasion.

The French hospital they had sent him to wasn't one that was equipped to handle such a poison, as the child would be "comatose perhaps permanently" as one doctor had warned James, Alex's supposed distraught father. James didn't know Alex's real name, and instead had asked Doc to come up with fake documents proving their relationship. James' son was called Anton, fourteen years old and who had been born and raised in France.

Doc took over the case, as planned, as he was one of the best doctors in the hospital.

Doc advised for "Anton" to be transferred to a larger hospital, one who specialised in poisons, diseases and comatose/ handicapped patients.

One in another country altogether.

James played his role well; when Doc suggested in front of a large audience in the hospital that it was his son's only hope, he screamed, yelling that there was no way his son was leaving for another country. Doc told him, calmly, it was his only way. And when Doc stated that there would be no room in the helicopter, and that he would have to make his own way there, he stormed around for a few hours before relenting, begging the doctors to "take care of my boy."

So, it was three days later, after the hospital had 'stabilised' Anton, and prepared him to be air-lifted and transported, that Alex was transported to the helicopter via a wheelchair, before being laid down inside of it on a stretcher. The wheelchair was kept inside of the helicopter, folded up so as to fill up as little space as possible.

If the medic team travelling with him, besides Doc, had any complaints and confusion over it, they didn't voice their opinion.

Alex woke slightly when the rotor blades sliced through the air, creating a massive booming sound as they built up enough speed to lift off and was loud enough, as they say, to wake the dead... or in Alex's case, enough to wake his mind from it's zombie-like state. He found that he couldn't move, and thinking was almost impossible, but he recognised some sounds around him.

His mind wasn't conscious for long – not long enough for the air ambulance crew or the Doc to realise it – and when his ears popped as they quickly flew into the air, his mind went silent once again, and he didn't think for a further fifteen hours.

It took six hours with two stops to refuel before the helicopter was grounded for the final time of the trip.

Disease control centre: Solna, Sweden. European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control.

Or so it was meant to be.

Neither the co-pilot or the ambulance crew had ever been to the Swedish disease control centre – hadn't even seen pictures of it, so it was really quite easy for Doc, the pilot and everyone else in on the whole operation to fake the building; all they merely had to do was put a sign stating what the building was on the building itself, and inside they only needed one room to look like the stereotypical disease controlled areas in any hospital: see-through and cloudy sheets making sterilised rooms for diseased patients, only the bare essentials within them – one bed and a metal tray. Sometimes not even that. Monitors both inside and outside of the room, monitoring air levels and the patients various levels – blood pressure, oxygenated blood, heart rate, and so many other things.

As soon as the ambulance crew carefully carried Alex on the stretcher off the helicopter, there was personnel from the building rushing out to meet them.

This personnel took over from the ambulance crew, carrying Alex into the building.

The ambulance crew were quickly dismissed – and not even this raised questions. One of the personnel shouted back to them that the building and themselves were fully sterilised, but the ambulance crew weren't, and it could be critical to the patients they house.

"It's a risk for the patients to even bring in Doctor Abadie into the hospital. Who knows how many germs there are in that thing!" He said, pointing at the helicopter.

Doc – Doctor Abadie – followed the personnel into the six story tall building, rolling the wheelchair along with him, all the while telling them Alex's stats and recapping over what had happened to put the boy into this state.

He was to stay a day with the boy, looking over him and making sure that the new staff knew everything about him, before flying back to France the following day.

The air-ambulance crew lifted off the ground ten minutes later, after Alex was situated in a new bed.

Whilst Doc would be flying back to France tomorrow, Alex would be flying to a whole new location – one of his roles had been completed.

In the wheelchair, many kilos of a brand new drug had been transported to Sweden through the many spokes in the wheels, the metal pieces holding the chair together, and there was even some lining the chairs' plastic seat and back.

Most of it, though, was in the blue and yellow pack that was situated over the back of the chair; inside was supposed to be a blanket to cover Alex in case he got cold. Instead, that had been replaced with bags and bags of the new drug – a potentially lethal but very addictive solution that took you to the most happy of places. Doc hadn't tried it himself, but they had given it to many homeless people... and well, they certainly seemed to enjoy it, as when they went back the following night he had been begged to give out more.

These drugs would be distributed among the Swedish population, as they were amongst the French, and as they would soon be given to US, where part two of the Chair's role would be accomplished.

As Alex was 'stabilised' in his new home for the moment, the chair was excavated of it's cargo.

He had a moment of lucidity wherein he heard the Doc's and the nurses – or supposed nurses, he should think – conversation.

"So everything is set for tomorrow?" Doc asked.

"Yes. So long as patient number three carries on living, then he'll be meeting up with the other patients very soon and be undertaking stage two."

"Excellent. What time is his flight?" Their voices were getting quieter to Alex's ears, and he guessed that they were moving away from him.

"Four in the morning. James is hoping that at such an early time security may be lax, and it'll help patients three exit of Sweden and entry of Costa Rica."

"Well, let's just hope that James' luck carries with us for patient three. I'm not sure how many more children we can send in this condition without drawing too much attention to ourselves."

They'd wandered off by the last sentence, but Alex caught the gist of it.

His mind wandered again, and soon everything went dark.

His last coherent thought was, _what the hell is stage two?_

**-8-**

**A/N: **So, so, so sorry for the late update. I've just done my A levels, so I was focusing on revising for those, and now that it's the summer holidays before my first year of uni, all of my friends are going away, so I'll more than likely not see them again for a very very very long time, so we're spending a lot of time together – hence there's very little time to write.

Anyway, I've gotten about three major action scenes – well, action scenes, anyway, planned out for this story (one taken from a film that some of you may recognise). Another is something to do with the drugs, and the third one is a different stage. As in, something like stage four or five of "the plan", which I've taken from a TV show I watched a week or so ago (you see – even though I may not have been writing, I was still thinking about the story!)

This stage will be more like what you see in AH's writing – something on a global scale... and I must admit it's kinda like Snakehead, only not with the whole "I want to drown part of Australia" thing.

Don't actually think Australia will be mentioned, come to think of it.


	21. Introduction to the Whackjob

**Fairly quick update, I reckon :P**

**It hasn't got much information in it about stage 2, although it does hint at it... before being rudely interrupted. You'll see what it all means in the end, though, I can promise you that.**

**Now then, on with the chapter.**

_**-8-**_

Chapter 21

_Alex Rider_

_**-8-**_

"_Well, let's just hope that James' luck carries with us for patient three. I'm not sure how many more children we can send in this condition without drawing too much attention to ourselves."_

_They'd wandered off by the last sentence, but Alex caught the gist of it._

_His mind wandered again, and soon everything went dark._

_His last coherent thought was, what the hell is stage two?_

_**-8-**_

Alex was unconscious throughout his next flight to Costa Rica, and his first moment of lucidity didn't come until close to twenty-four hours after they'd arrived.

His mind was more clear than it ever had been since he was first drugged, and now not only could he think for himself, but he could also feel a spongy substance underneath him where he lay on his back.

He couldn't move, he found, but even he could recognise the wafer-thin sponge mattress that was put on hospital beds. Was he really in a hospital, he wondered. Was he safe now from his captors? Did the airport security realise something was wrong?

Or was he still within his captors clutches, and the hospital bed was there's?

He wasn't sure, but he knew by his bad luck as of late that it was more than likely the latter.

As he struggled to move – to hopefully sit up slightly – his heart raced just that bit quicker, and almost instantly there was a beeping noise alerting him of the fact.

Within seconds two men entered his room, one rushing to switch off the beeping machinery, the other approaching him with a pen light and needle in each hand, a stethoscope around his neck.

"Can you speak, child?" the man that was obviously a doctor asked in perfect French, although his accent sounded more like than of a Spaniard. Although, for all Alex knew, the man could just be an imposter – not a doctor or a Spaniard or a Frenchman at all.

It gave him hope, though; a hospital bed, hospital machinery and a doctor... as the saying went, _if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and walks like a duck, then in all possibility, it could very well be a duck. _Or is Alex's case, a hospital.

But he knew he wasn't that lucky. Not now, any way.

He tried to speak, but couldn't, and when he tried to move his head to shake it from side to side, he almost fainted from the pain that spread out from the centre of his brain, and it was even worse that he couldn't even moan to convey it.

Instead, he waited for it to abate, before moving his eyes from side to side in a silent "_no_".

"Excellent!" the doctor-duck-man said cheerfully, and Alex knew at that moment that his luck hadn't followed him from his missions to the here and now. "That's very good, very good indeed," he muttered calmly to himself, although Alex still heard it, as he moved around the bed to Alex's other side where the machinery was.

The second man who had entered the room had moved away by then to stand close to the door; a guard, though considering Alex's current condition he didn't know who he was supposed to be protecting the doctor from.

"Now then, your name is Anton, correct?" He asked, and Alex narrowed his eyes in confusion, before he remembered the fake documents the other Doc had made, with Anton being his name. He moved his eyes up to see the white ceiling, before lowering them to his chest as an affirmative action, before settling his eyes back onto the doctor and watching him press some buttons on the machines.

"You remember what happened to you then, I see," he 'hmm'ed, before giving his signature, "very good."

Alex watched as papers were printed out from underneath one of the larger pieces of machinery, what Alex thought was monitoring his blood pressure, heart rate and various other things, and again the doctor said, "very good, very good indeed," as he read the results.

The man was irritating, that was for sure, although Alex had met many-a whack-jobs over the last year or so with their own little sayings.

He would have shuddered thinking about it... only he just physically couldn't.

"Well, Anton, you should be ready to go in a few short days," he said, pausing. Alex's hopes couldn't help but be raised, although he knew he really shouldn't have. The man's next sentence proved that very well. "Almendro will want to see you before that, though... make sure you're small enough to fit into the sub-shuttle. And then it will just be happy days," he smiled happily at Alex.

"But don't worry, Anton. You won't be alone, and it won't be forever. Just merely until we've gotten what we've wanted, of course." Again the doctor paused. "You're going to make us a very rich company, what with all the-"

"Doctor!" the guard interrupted, drawing Alex's and the doctor's attention to him. "That's enough. He doesn't need to know much more." He said, without taking his eyes of the doctor. Alex realised for the first time that he wouldn't look at him – and wondered whether it was because he didn't want to become attached. If he knew what he looked like, as well as his name, and saw that he was only a child, would it play on whatever piece of his cold and rotted heart he had left?

"Of course, of course. Well, Anton, we'll see each other again, I'm sure. But for now, I'll just need to pop this little needle into your arm, and we shall be good. Very good." He smiled once again, and Alex knew there was a lot of screws lose in this man's mind.

"You should be able to move by tomorrow morning now, so Bargo will just put some cuffs around you to be on the safe side, and then you'll have the day to yourself. And oh, in case you need to go to the bathroom, we've placed a special tube in your, ahm, your ahm, well, I'm sure you know where," he said, flustered, "so just... go as you please, okay Anton?"

A doctor being flustered from mentioning his, ah, groin area? Really? It was almost as bad as when Jack had "the talk" with him about puberty when he was ten and thought that using pictures and hand gestures would be less embarrassing. It should have been Ian to have the talk, only he wasn't really home, and any time Jack had brought the subject up with him, he'd conveniently hear the phone or door ringing, or have to go to work... at eleven at night... on a Bank holiday Monday...

If anything, it made it worse; Alex had to be subjected to not only the male form during puberty, but that of the female form, too. She wanted him to understand that when he was older and started to date, sometimes a woman may be a little... testy at times, and to know why so he'd have the patience with her.

Alex didn't look at Jack quite the same way ever again, and when she bought the food or "clothes" shopping home, he never rushed to look inside the bags for some biscuits and crisps for fear of spotting some female products that would bring back the horrible memories.

So, either this man hadn't seen everything, or talked about everything with patients, or he wasn't a real doctor.

"Well then, Anton, that's all, so just relax, and enjoy your stay" the doctor said pleasantly as he watched the guard slip on hand cuffs to his wrists and rope around his ankles that were both tied to the bars on his bed. He made it seem like why Alex was here was because of a holiday, not because he was a prisoner.

Alex could feel himself getting sleepy, and knew that it was because of whatever drug the doctor had given him.

_**-8-**_

_****_Alex woke every four hours or so uncomfortable and always in pain; as his body became more aware of itself, and he managed to move his limbs, blood rushed through his veins creating the dreaded pins and needles. It was bad enough when you had just a foot that had gone to sleep, or an arm that had, but having your whole body come alive almost simultaneously was too much, and he fainted once again.

He awoke to less pain and a window that was open and spilled bright sunlight into his room.

He hadn't noticed before, and guessed it was because someone had been in the room and pulled the yellow curtains open, along with the window.

He managed this time to move himself upwards into a sitting position, sliding his hand cuffs and rope along the metal bars as he did so.

He was just pleased to know that whatever zombie/coma-like state he'd been in before had finally worn off, although dreaded the fact that he could be placed in it again so very easily.

Not being able to think or move for himself had been horrible; his mind was his greatest asset, and without it he could never come up with a plan to escape.

Escape.

How long now was it since that word had meant little more than a word to be used on a scrabble board, or escaping from school on a hot Friday afternoon to enjoy the weekend?

He sighed, and waited for little over an hour before a women in a nurse uniform came into the room, unsurprised to see him awake and sitting up.

She walked to the bottom of his bed, picked up the chart there before scribbling something on it and walking out of the room.

The doctor strode in just moments later, followed by a man in what looked to be a very expensive suit. His black hair was slicked back, and his tanned skin showed him to be a native to Costa Rica. Or at least a native to a hot place, at any rate.

"This is child two?" He asked the doctor, and the doctor nodded his head in confirmation

"This is Anton. French. Given half of the antidote fourteen hours ago, and can obviously move already." Doctor spoke in Spanish, as if trying to keep Alex from listening in. "He's moving along quickly, which is good, of course. Very good."

_Ah, the man just had to get that in, didn't he?_ Alex mused silently to himself.

"Anton, this is Almendro, the man I told you about last night, remember?" Doctor said in a placating tone to him, as if speaking to a young child.

Alex nodded his head, and thankfully, it didn't cause him too much pain.

"So," he said, turning to Almendro. "Is he to your liking?"

Almendro had been looking at Alex throughout the introductions, but changed from just looking at his face to looking at all of him, sizing him up and measuring him.

"He'll fit," Almendro said. "Make sure his hands can move steadily before taking him the the sub-shuttle. No point in telling him what he'll be doing if he can't even do it... if he can do it, however, make sure you explain to him what will happen if he tries to leave us." Almendro said this last part whilst looking directly at Alex. "And make sure he meets child one and three before he does so... so he knows he can easily be replaced."

And with that, Almendro left the room, as the doctor set about testing Alex's body parts.

_**-8-  
**_

**Well, there you have it, another chapter – and doesn't the doctor just get on your nerves?**

**I've given a couple of hints as to what's coming up next for Alex, although I hope not too many – can't have you all just knowing now, or else you won't bother to read it.**

**So, rate and review, please :)**


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